


Cause I Built a Home (For You, For Me)

by noneedforhystereks



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Kid Fic, M/M, Mechanic Derek Hale, Mechanic!Derek, Pining, Slow Build, daddy!stiles, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 59,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noneedforhystereks/pseuds/noneedforhystereks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mechanic!Derek and Daddy!Stiles</p><p>Derek Hale is a mechanic in the sleepy town of Beacon Hills, where he has lived all of his life. He spends his day in a simple routine: wake up, fix cars, go home, sleep. It's what he's good at, and it keeps things simple and uncomplicated. Derek doesn't let people in and remains emotionally distant from everyone except his sister, Laura, and her daughter. This all changes when Boyd tows in an old blue Jeep that needs a lot of work and Derek meets the owner of said Jeep.</p><p>Because once Derek meets Stiles and his kids, he can't stop himself from caring. And he doesn't want to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ведь я построил дом. (Для тебя, для меня.)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7848412) by [Otter_DM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otter_DM/pseuds/Otter_DM)



“Derek, how’s that _fucking_ Mercedes coming along? I’ve got a Mrs. Whittemore bitching in my ear and I don’t know what to tell her,” Frank yelled out from the office. Derek snorted and wiped his hands on the towel tucked into his back pocket. He had been consistently working on this Mercedes SLK for the last two days and it was almost done, the damn bushes and trunions had to be overnighted from a dealership down south. The owner, a wealthy woman from the outskirts of town, had been calling every day- several times a day- since the car came into the shop five days ago. 

“Jesus H. Christ. Tell her she can pick it up later today, around 4,” Derek answered, annoyance clear in his voice. He had to finish installing the new rear suspension and do a quick oil change before he could send it home. He knew he would be cutting it close, but he wanted this woman out of his hair as soon as possible.

Frank grunted in affirmation and shut the office door. Just as Derek went to get back to work on the SLK, the shop’s tow truck came into the lot. Boyd honked and shut the truck off. Derek came over and saw the truck was towing a beat up blue Jeep. “What the _hell_ is that?” Derek scoffed. Boyd grinned at him and jerked his thumb behind him. Derek looked back at the tow truck and saw a man walking towards the garage with two kids. The man was tall and lanky, with broad shoulders and short brown hair. He had a toddler on his hip and another clinging to his pant leg.

“Umm, hi,” the man greeted Derek with familiarity and a smile, “I don’t really know what happened. She kind of just…died on me.” The man gestured to the blue monstrosity of a car on the tow truck’s bed. Derek looked the man over now that he was close enough to really inspect. _Damn,_ Derek thought to himself, _hello to you, too_. Now that Derek could see the man properly, he looked far too young to have two children- but maybe he was an older brother or a nanny. Derek nodded to the man and motioned to Boyd to bring the car over. Boyd and the new mechanic, Greenberg, took the Jeep off the hitch and pushed it into the available carport next to the Mercedes in Derek’s working space. Derek raised an eyebrow at Boyd, his face plainly displaying his irritation _. “_ Of course I get to work on the dinosaur _,_ ” Derek growled at Boyd, who chuckled in return. Derek flipped him off.

“I can take over the SLK, Hale. Why don’t you go ahead and take a look at Mr. Stilinski’s Jeep,” Boyd stated, walking over with such forced casualty that Derek wanted to punch him right in his smug face, “Well, I’m sure at once upon a time it was a Jeep. Derek, here, will take care of your deathtrap, Mr. Stilinski.” Boyd shook the man’s free hand and walked into the office, Greenberg right behind him. _Stilinski_ , Derek thought to himself, _As in Sheriff Stilinski? That make him the Sheriff’s kid?_ Derek's train of thought was interrupted by a huff of frustration from the insulted young man beside him.

“Hey, now. That Jeep’s been good to me. I’ve had it since I was 16,” Stiles mumbled indignantly, eyebrows furrowing in the middle of his face. The man pulled the toddler on his hip off and onto the ground. Derek huffed out a loud sigh then. _Of course_ it had died on him- the ’78/’76 CJ5 was probably _ancient_ under the hood. Derek sighed again in annoyance as he thought of all the things he was going to have to do and pushed his sleeves up on his forearms. He looked up at Mr. Stilinski and motioned him over to the Jeep. The young man, in turn, motioned for the little girl and little boy at his legs to sit over in the chairs on the side of the garage. They looked solemnly at him and scrambled over to climb on the plastic chairs.

“How long have you had it, exactly, Mr. Stilinski?” Derek asked, hoping the question was subtle enough. Derek didn’t usually care too much about the customers that came in, but he found himself wanting to know more about this Mr. Stilinski. He saw this as the perfect opportunity to find out how old he was… _not that I care_ , he reminded himself. He walked over to the Jeep and, since it was an older car, popped the hood himself. Lifting it up and placing the prop, he began to inspect it.

“Well, a while,” Mr. Stilinski mumbled, embarrassment flushing his cheeks and neck a dark pink, “It’s been good to me for the past decade or so.”

Derek thumped his head on the lid of the hood when he reared upwards in surprise. The prop slipped from under the hood and it clattered closed. Derek had a split second to pull his shirt from the hood, before it could close on it. He rubbed the back of his head viciously as he scowled at the car. The children were giggling in the background, all sounds of climbing and horseplay gone. Derek looked over at Mr. Stilinski, who had flailed violently at the sound of his head smacking into the hood and saw he was now staring at him, mouth and eyes agape in surprise.

“S-sorry, I just,” Derek started, the words stumbled on his tongue, “There’s no way. You-you’re…you can’t be older than like, 20.” Derek was trying to salvage what little dignity he had left after the scene he had made. He was torn between running into the office and demanding Boyd deal with the young man and crawling inside the Jeep’s hood to escape from the situation.

Stiles lowered his hands and his eyes widened further, more than Derek thought humanly possible. Derek felt his ears and neck turn red. _Please don’t laugh at me, please_. The Stilinski kid choked on his laughter as he cackled. Derek was just about to say something when a crash resounded from the side of the garage.

“Damnit, Erica. I just _know_ that was you,” Stiles groaned, “No, no, no, don-,” Stiles half screeched, half choked out as more tumbling and giggling sounded from the side of the garage. He scrambled in the direction of the noise, before Derek reached out and stopped him.

“It’s fine. They can play over there. There’s nothing they can hurt themselves with in that part of the garage,” Derek assured the young father, grateful for the sudden distraction. “When my niece comes to work with me, that’s where she plays.” Stiles glanced at the hand on his shoulder and blushed a deep scarlet. Derek, startled by the sudden realization he was actually touching the man’s shoulder, slowly slid his hand off. If he did so slowly while surreptitiously feeling the muscle and warmth of the man’s back, it was purely accidental. Derek hadn’t noticed how close he was to the man. Now that he realized his proximity, he noticed everything else he failed to see before. Full chapped pink lips. Pale skin dotted by moles sporadically placed like brown ink spots. Thick eyelashes that framed warm, wide amber eyes. A button nose dusted with freckles in between the most expressive thick eyebrows Derek had ever seen. Well, apart from his own. Derek was so taken aback by the beautiful man in front of him, he hadn’t realized the man was speaking.

“I-I’m sorry. What was that?” Derek cut him off mid-sentence, trying to regain his composure. He moved back to open the Jeep’s hood again. This time, the man followed him and leaned against the workbench on the wall. Derek could feel the man’s eyes on his back and he flexed instinctively. He never felt this anxious in front of someone he found attractive. Mr. Stilinski had barely been there five minutes and he was already driving Derek crazy.

“I said my name is Stiles. These,” Stiles motioned to the children running over to him, “are my little boogers. Erica,” Stiles picked up the little girl and shifted her onto his hip, “and Isaac.” He swung the hand holding the little boy’s and smiled down at the child. Derek wasn’t sure if he should introduce himself to the children. He crossed his arms firmly for a moment, before smiling nervously at the family and offering his hand to the little boy.

“I’m Derek,” Derek said gruffly bending over the boy, “It’s nice to meet you, Isaac.” When the boy shied away from his hand, Derek furrowed his eyebrows and cleared his throat. Stooping down to sit on his heels in a crouch, he softened his smile and looked up at Stiles anxiously.

The boy nervously released his father’s hand and shook Derek’s, smiling shyly at him from beneath thick black lashes. Isaac was a handsome little boy, all soft brown curls and big blue eyes. After a brief handshake, Isaac released Derek’s hand ran behind his father’s legs, tangling himself in Stiles’ limbs. Derek stood up and offered his hand to Erica, noting the way she studied him with eyes as big and brown as her father’s. The resemblance between the children and their father was striking.

“And nice to meet you too, Erica,” Derek said quietly, taking the girl’s hand.

“You’re pretty. _Really_ pretty,” Erica replied eagerly as she vigorously shook Derek’s hand. She smiled at him, wide and white with the two front teeth missing. She let go of his hand and shook her wild blonde curls, giggling as Stiles put her down on the floor again. As soon as she was on the floor, she ran to the side of the garage- dragging Isaac behind her. Stiles reached to grab the both of them, stumbling as he flailed toward them. Giving up when they ran out of reach, Stiles sighed and turned back towards Derek.

“Thanks, for that,” Stiles smiled and put his hands in his pockets, “They can be painfully shy sometimes. It’s nice to seem them feeling…comfortable.” Stiles shifted against the workbench as Derek turned back to the Jeep.

“I’m gonna, um, look at your Jeep now,” Derek muttered out of the side of mouth, silently thankful Stiles couldn’t see the blush creeping into his face.

* * *

 

“How’s that Jeep coming along, Derek?” Frank asked from somewhere to Derek’s left. “Didya finally figure out what’s wrong with it?”

Derek cleaned his hands and closed the hood of the car the shop had fondly nicknamed, “the Blue Dinosaur”.

“Yeah. Turns out the distributor trigger and the ignition module needed replacing. So I went ahead and replaced the cap, rotor, plug wires…everything. The rest of it looks pretty good, but I cleaned up a few things inside, too. I’ll call Stiles, erm, Mr. Stilinski. He can pick it up today.”

It had been over a week since Derek had met Stiles. Since then, Derek hadn’t been able to get him out of his head. Boyd had made sure to take over working on the SLK, so Derek had been diligently working on Stiles’ Jeep. Every morning when Boyd came in, Derek was already in the shop fixing up the Dinosaur. After less than a week, the car was ready to go. But Derek had continued to work on it, replacing the axles and the outdated power steering box mount. The replacements hadn’t come cheap, but Derek had paid for it out of his own pocket. He told himself they were absolutely necessary fixes in the restoration of the car; that the car wouldn’t make it out of the shop unless he did them. But, if he were being honest with himself, it was because he was making sure the car was safe to drive, considering Stiles had two five year olds in the car.

Derek didn’t know why he was so invested in this family he barely knew; he had made a habit of keeping to himself, rarely leaving his bubble of security to visit his sister and her daughter. But invested he was. Every morning Derek woke up, he decided he would call Stiles and tell him the Jeep was ready. But every morning when he got to the garage, he found himself opening the hood or sliding underneath the car and finding something to fix or replace. Every day Frank would open the office door and ask how the Jeep was coming along, and every day Derek would grumble out a, “Almost done. Still working on some things,” in response.

Derek closed the hood, finally having run out of things to tweak and restore. Boyd smirked at him and leaned against the Jeep. “How’s the Blue Abomination, Hale? Finally fixed everything you could?” Boyd preened, voice dripping in saccharine sarcasm.

Derek growled in response and elbowed him on his way to the office. Walking over to his desk, he shuffled through the papers on his desk until he found the receipt with ‘Stilinski’ scrawled across the top. Dialing the number, Derek nervously shifted in his seat and waited to hear someone answer. _What if a woman picks up? He has kids who look like him, he has to be straight. What if a man answers? What if his kids are from a surrogate?_ Derek thought up a thousand questions, each one resounding more and more frantically in his head. Just when he thought he would hang up and purposely rip a hose or break off a part of the clutch, just to have an excuse to work on something, the ringing stopped.

“Umm, hello,” a little voice giggled into the receiver, “This is Daddy’s phone. Who’s this?”

More giggling came through the receiver and Derek breathed a sigh of relief. _Kids. I can talk to kids. This isn’t hard_ , Derek steadied himself and cleared his throat.

“Hi, Erica, right?” Derek tried to sound as kind and kid-friendly as possible.

“Yep. Who’s this?” Erica responded bossily.

“This is Derek. Remember? I’m fixing your ca-,” Derek was immediately interrupted by a squeal and more giggling.

“Hi, Mr. Derek! Is Babe ready?” Erica squealed excitedly. There was movement and things crashing in the background. Derek assumed someone was trying to take the phone away.

“Hello? Sorry,” Stiles apologized surprisingly calmly, considering the screaming and laughing of two five year-olds in the background, “I was in the shower.”

“Hi, Mr. Stilinski. This is Derek Hale from Hale Motors. I wanted to let you know the deathtrap you call a Jeep CJ5 is ready,” Derek answered, a chuckle betrayed the sarcasm in his voice.

“Rude. I can pick it up at around 3:30 today, after I pick up my other son from school. Is that okay?” Stiles retorted with amusement in his voice.

“Uh, sure,” Derek choked out in surprise, “Yeah. I’ll see you then.” There was more crashing and laughing before Stiles hung up, excitedly squawking at his children.

 _Other son?_ Derek thought to himself. _Jesus, three kids before thirty? He has to be married. Fuck._ Derek hung up his phone and leaned back in his chair. The first person he felt attracted to in ages and of course it was a married father of three.


	2. For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek sees Stiles again and is introduced to Stiles' oldest son. Things...don't go as nicely as Derek would like and he finds out something he may not have wanted to hear. More pining ensues, because hey: don't we all love it when Derek pines? Also, Derek's niece is introduced and hope may or may not be restored.
> 
> Happy reading, y'all.

A few hours later, Derek was drawing up the receipts he needed to ring Stiles up when he felt as though he was being watched. Looking up from the paperwork in his hands, Derek noticed a wild mess of blonde curls and big brown eyes peeking up at him from the end of his desk. 

“Hey, Erica,” Derek greeted the girl and pushed the glasses on his nose onto the top of his head. Derek felt his palms sweat and a blush creep up the back of his neck. Leave it to Derek to feel anxious about impressing a _five year-old_.

Erica stuck her tongue out at him, then tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled wide at Derek. “I was being sneaky,” she whispered loudly before giggling into her hands. Derek smiled at her and rolled back in his chair, intending to walk Erica out and find her father. Erica had other plans. As soon as he was away from his desk, Erica lunged forward and hurled herself onto his legs. Derek didn’t have a chance to react, other than to let out a very manly yelp, before a flailing five year old was crawling into his lap and turning to face him.

“Gotcha,” she shrieked happily, grabbing his face between her hands and grinning victoriously. Derek melted into a warm puddle as Erica smashed his cheeks between her little hands and cooed at him. _Yeah, there’s no way I could ever say no to that face_ , Derek thought to himself as he chuckled. He stood up and swung the girl onto his hip, walking out into the garage to find Stiles.

“Erica! I was looking all over for you, you booger!” Stiles scolded, looking panicked and only mildly aggravated. He reached out to take the girl from Derek and Erica begrudgingly left Derek’s arms. Derek shrugged at Stiles, crossing his arms on his now-empty chest. Isaac was curled around Stiles’ legs (Derek was guessing that was “his spot”) and he smiled at Derek shyly, looking up at him from his long eyelashes.

“I went to find Mr. Derek. I just wanted to say hi,” Erica whined in response to Stiles’ scolding. She looked at Derek with her big brown eyes and gave him a mastered puppy-dog look, complete with quivering lips and a downward tip of her head. Derek was very much aware he was melting again.

“No puppy-dog eyes. You’re still a brat,” a gawky boy with long hair grumbled, walking up next to Stiles. Erica pouted and stuck her tongue out at the boy, not entirely disproving his claim. Derek turned his head to take a good look at the boy. He didn’t share his siblings’ fair complexion, instead looking much more tan and without a freckle in sight. His eyes were dark, as was his long wavy hair, and his jawline was slightly uneven. All awkward adolescence, with his too long limbs and baby face- the boy looked to be just shy of teenagerdom. Derek noticed there was almost no resemblance between the boy and the twins, save for a similarity in Isaac and the boy’s lanky build.

“Scott,” Stiles reprimanded the boy, looking down at him disapprovingly. “No name-calling, pop. I’ve told you about that.”

Scott looked at his father from beneath the fringe of his hair and rolled his eyes, before crossing his arms and slouching. He mumbled something Derek didn’t catch and Stiles looked at him sharply before sighing and shifting his gaze to Derek.

“Sorry. It was a rough day today,” Stiles said apologetically, smiling in a way that made Derek feel tingling warmth in his gut, “This little ray of sunshine is my oldest son, Scott. He’s twelve, so you’ll have to excuse the permanent stormy raincloud of pre-teen angst.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow as he looked at Scott from the corner of his eye, smirking slightly. Scott rolled his eyes again in response. Derek nodded at the boy and stretched out his hand, much like he had when introducing himself to the twins two weeks ago.

“Hi, I’m Derek,” Derek introduced himself awkwardly, feeling the boy’s glare through his shaggy hair.

“Whatever,” Scott muttered before turning away to sit in the plastic chairs along the wall. Isaac ran from underneath Stiles to follow him and clamber into the seat next to his. Derek didn’t try to hide the frown that crept into his face as the Scott walked away

Stiles shook his head in disapproval and put Erica back on the floor, motioning for her to go join her siblings. Taking one last look Derek, she smiled adoringly at him- complete with eyelash flutters- and skipped away. “Watch them, please. I’m going to go pay for the repairs, okay?” Stiles was speaking to Scott, who nodded curtly and resumed staring at the ceiling. 

“Your paperwork is ready to go. You can fill it out and look it over while I pull your car out front,” Derek said, walking into the office with Stiles behind him. 

“I feel like I’m apologizing a lot, but sorry again,” Stiles chuckled, “Scott’s going through his awkward phase and he had a rough day at school.”

Derek shrugged his shoulders and eased the frown off his face, but left his eyebrows furrowed, “It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize. Jesus, I hated being a teenager. I get it.”

Stiles smiled at him again, relief lighting up his face. He was about to reply when yelling and crying exploded from the garage.

“Scott! Stop it! You’re being a poopface!” Isaac cried out, tears rolling down his face. His little hands were balled up into fists at his sides, shaking with his apparent rage. Erica was trying to hit Scott repeatedly, little punches flailing out at random wherever she could reach. Scott was holding her back with one hand pushing away her head and the other holding, what Derek guessed to be, Isaac’s DS.

“Excuse me, Stilinski brood!” At once, the fighting stopped, the three children frozen in various poses of duress and violence. Stiles was icily glaring out from underneath dangerously furrowed eyebrows. Damn, he could give Derek a run for his money with those things. “You,” Stiles pointed at Scott, “Stay out here. You two, boogerbeans,” Stiles pointed at the twins, “Inside the office. Now.”

* * *

Derek left the office to drive the Jeep out front. When he returned, Scott was going through his toolbox and generally snooping around his workbench. Scowling, Derek crossed his arms and cleared his throat 

“Do you always look like you’re gonna punch someone in the throat?” Scott asked, picking up a heavy-duty slugging box wrench Derek had _just_ ordered in.

“I’m not gonna punch anyone. Now put that down. That’s a $300 wrench.”

Scott set it down carefully, then flipped his hair and squared his jaw. Derek had no idea how to start a conversation with the kid. He tried not to take it to personally; he had hated talking to anyone when he was Scott’s age. Derek looked towards the office, watching Stiles bounce Isaac on his lap as he went over the bill and talked to Frank. Derek couldn’t keep his eyes off the man. The chapped, full lips that were slightly parted in concentration. The ruddy pink flush that colored the tops of his cheeks. The fingers on the hand that were rubbing Isaac’s back as the boy hugged Stiles around the neck.

“Why do you look at my dad like that?”

Derek whipped his head back to look at the boy in front of him. Scott’s eyes were narrowed and he had stepped closer to Derek while Derek had been…distracted. Panicking, Derek glanced at Stiles and back at Scott. _Shit. How was I looking at him?_ Derek tried to push down the embarrassment pooling in his chest.

“I wasn’t, umm. I don’t know what you’re—,” Derek growled out. He was desperately trying to think of something to say, “What?”

“You look at him weird. Your face gets sad. Your eyes get all big and you kind of…stare.”

“I do not stare.”

“Do too. And you better stop. Because my mom is going to come back some day and she’ll get mad if she ever sees you looking at _her husband_ that way.”

Derek felt his stomach drop into the soles of his feet. He didn’t know why he felt so gutted when he had expected as much. Stiles had two kids who practically looked like they had budded from his side and another adolescent son: of course he was married…to a woman. Derek shouldn’t have felt so disappointed; he knew it had been an empty hope. But, still- he had been hoping. Derek nodded at Scott in response and moved towards the office, his footsteps slightly heavier than they had been only an hour before when he was anticipating seeing Stiles again. He knocked on the door, interrupting an apparently hilarious conversation between Frank and Stiles.

“You’re all set to go,” Derek tried not to sound pained.

“Thanks, Derek. I appreciate it,” Stiles beamed up at him, eyes warm and bright. Isaac was now sleeping in his lap and Erica was doodling on papers on Derek’s desk. Stiles stood up and shook Frank’s and Derek’s hands, then walked out while managing to carry his papers in one hand and Isaac against his chest in the other. Erica looked up as Stiles left and capped the markers she was drawing with. She started to scramble after her father through the door before coming back to stop in front of Derek.

“I made you this,” she preened, her little chest puffing out in pride. Handing it to him, she hugged his legs and ran out to catch up to her siblings and dad.

Derek held the paper up and pushed his forgotten glasses back down onto his face. Erica had doodled a big, bear-like figure with “Darek” scrawled above it and two smaller stick figures she labeled as “Erica” and “Izak”. Every “a” was written backwards. There was a big, smiling sun in the corner and what must have been a rainbow (or some kind of kite…or flying sashimi?) at the top. A big blue rectangular block with circles on the bottom (wheels?) was in the corner— the Jeep. Derek smiled, feeling it stretch across his whole face. It had been a long time since he had really smiled.

* * *

 

Another week passed and Derek couldn’t get Stiles out of his head. He had tried, but that damn face was burned into his memory. _Pining. I’m fucking pining._ Derek wondered if he looked as pathetic as he felt. Boyd teased him mercilessly, as did Frank. His crush was evident, but he didn’t share Scott’s warning with anyone. It was enough he was pining over a grown-ass father of three, no one needed to know that man was also straight and married. Boyd chalked up Derek’s lack of initiative to, “Your complete lack of social skills when it comes to conversing with anyone over the age of eight.” Frank, on the other hand, had always assumed Derek just didn’t like anyone enough to socialize with. Derek ignored them both and decided he would distract himself with work and family; he accepted he wouldn’t be forgetting about his infatuation any time soon.

Tuesday morning, Derek left during his lunch break to pick up his niece from school. It had been almost a month since he had last seen her and he missed their quality time. Allison, much like Derek and completely unlike Laura, had always been more on the quiet side. She preferred companionable silence and time alone, much like her uncle. As a result, the two had always been close. Derek had loved her like his own daughter since she was born, stepping away from being a total hermit and including her in his bubble of solitude. Laura was grateful for their bond, considering Allison’s dad was no longer in the picture. Derek didn’t mind being a father figure, going dress shopping, or learning how to do makeup. In return, Allison didn’t seem to mind getting grease on her hands and learning how to take apart and put together car engines older than herself.

Derek pulled up to the school and parked the Camaro in the back row. It was tradition for Derek to wait outside the gym and walk Allison to the car, having done so since her first day of pre-school. He had been worried, as Allison got older, that she would outgrow this tradition. But she was almost fourteen and still insisted upon being walked from the gym to his car. He was secretly grateful.

“Derek! What are you doing here?” Stiles interrupted Derek’s train of thought and jogged to meet him at the top of the stairs. He was dressed in a flannel and a plain blue t-shirt that hugged his chest. If Derek thought the shirt was distracting, the low-slung skinny jeans were downright offensive. _So much for being distracted_ , Derek whined inwardly. It was unfair for him to be so attracted to someone so off limits.

“Stiles,” Derek went for casual, but it sounded pained even to his ears, “I’m picking up my niece. She usually comes to work with me once or twice a week, but it’s been about a month since the last time she came over. I, uh, think we’re both going through withdrawals.”

“Aww, that’s actually precious. You said your niece? How old is she? What grade is she in? What’s her name?” Stiles bombarded Derek with questions as they continued walking towards the gym.

“Yeah, thanks. She’s my sister’s daughter. Thirteen. Seventh grade. Allison Hale,” Derek listed off the answers. Every few steps, he glanced at Stiles and took in how insanely gorgeous the man looked. Fate, as it would have it, was being particularly unkind to him today.

“No way. _The_ Allison Hale? Ha. Scott is going to die,” Stiles cackled and threw his head back.

Apparently, as Stiles described in agonizing detail, Scott had a massive crush on Allison. Fluffy poetry, embarrassing mix CDs, angsty journal entries (Stiles assured Derek he was just curious, not a snoop): the whole thing. From what Derek could tell, Scott was just as bad as he was. _Hypocrite._ Derek couldn’t help feel a little defensive, though: he may not be her father, but he had always been protective of Allison. She was like a daughter to him and he wanted her to stay interested in crossbows, carburetors, and candy-flavored lip-gloss forever. No boys, ever. Stiles must have caught onto Derek’s growing discomfort because he reached out to place a hand on his forearm. He smiled softly and quickly changed the subject.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Stiles said quietly. He hadn’t moved his hand off Derek’s arm. Stiles’ long fingers rested, warm and soft, on the crook where his forearm and upper arm met. Derek had appreciated the feeling, but when he glanced down at Stiles’ hand- he noticed it. Or rather, he noticed what _wasn’t_ on Stiles’ ring finger: a wedding band. There wasn’t even a hint of a tan where the finger met the knuckle, like most people would have if they wore a ring continuously. Derek’s stomach did a flip upon his discovery.

“I was going to call the shop, but I decided I wanted to swing by instead and I got busy and, man, I don’t know if this will make me sound like a dick, but…um. Well, I was looking over the receipt from the shop and it didn’t all add up. I mean, I think you _seriously_ undercharged me for the work you did.”

Derek tensed and turned to face Stiles, all relief he had felt shriveled up then. Stiles realized where his hand had been the whole time and drew it back quickly, sticking it awkwardly into his pocket. Derek ran his hand through his hair and glanced at his feet. How was he going to explain this? What reason could he give for doing way more work than he needed to _and_ paying for the parts out of his own pocket? Two weeks he had spent on that fucking Jeep. The distributor trigger and the ignition module had been replaced and done in _three days_ , thanks to Derek’s near-obsessive work ethic and Boyd’s insistence that Derek let Greenberg and him pick up all the cars that came in. He had devoted an entire two weeks and a good amount of cash to fix up a car that wasn’t even his for a man he was infatuated with— all the while knowing it was just an infatuation. It sounded like a fucking 80’s rom-com.

“I didn’t undercharge you. I charged you what was wrong with the Jeep when it was towed in. Erm, don’t worry about the other stuff on the bill. I…took care of it,” Derek tried, heroically, to sound casual. “I just saw some things that needed fixing. I didn’t mind the work or anything. I figured if you were going to be driving your family around in that thing, it should be as safe possible. Precious cargo, you know?”

When Derek looked up from studying the sidewalk, he found amber eyes boring into his face. Taken aback, Derek found he couldn’t look anywhere else except at Stiles. For a few moments, the two men stood in silence: Stiles staring at Derek with an intensity Derek couldn’t quite discern, and Derek fidgeting nervously under Stiles’ stare.

“Come over for dinner tomorrow night,” Stiles blurted out. His eyes were still boring into Derek’s face, but the corners of his mouth had curled up slightly. Reaching into his back pocket, Stiles took out a folded piece of paper. “My address is on that. We eat at 6:30ish, depending on how motivated the brood is feeling. Anyway, come over. Eat. Appease Erica, ‘cause she’s been talking about you nonstop. I also happen to make a mean pot roast. It’ll be my way of saying thank you. It’s the least I can do.”

Derek didn’t have a chance to reply to Stiles’ long-winded invitation before the school bell rang. Still holding the piece of paper in his outstretched hand, Derek watched Stiles wave goodbye and walk toward the gym’s doors. What did all of this even mean? Derek couldn’t afford to be hopeful, but he couldn’t ignore the excitement he felt at Stiles’ invitation. Derek’s inner turmoil was interrupted when he saw Allison walk out slowly and scan the crowd for him. When she saw him, her face lit up in a wide smile. She ran out from the gym entrance and flung herself into Derek’s chest with a solid _thunk_. 

“Uncle Derek! I missed you, Bear,” Allison said sweetly, kissing him on the cheek. Derek wasn’t normally an affectionate person, but he was different with Laura and Allison. Along with his Uncle Peter, they were the last of the Hale family. He made exceptions for family, even if it meant putting up with kisses and a little too much snuggling than he was comfortable with. Derek pulled Allison in for a tight hug, and glanced over her shoulder. He could see Stiles talking to another parent, arm around Scott’s shoulders. Scott was staring at Derek and Allison with a look that was somewhere between horror and mortification, mouth agape and eyes wide as saucers. _Little shit_ , Derek thought to himself with a chuckle. 

* * *

 

Later that night, after work, Derek took Allison home with him. Laura was working late again and Derek would rather have Allison asleep in the guest bedroom than alone in the apartment again. Allison didn’t have to ask; Derek knew she hated being alone at night and he always had the room made up for her, just in case. He ordered take out and the two talked about what they had missed in the last month over greasy Chinese food. Archery competitions, a school dance (that Allison attended with a group of friends, to Derek’s relief), and Derek’s ongoing restoration of his father’s old Chevy truck. It felt good to be back into their routine. Derek liked routines; they kept his life simple, easy, and normal.

After Allison had gone to sleep and Derek had finished cleaning up, he stumbled into bed. Taking off his jeans, a piece of paper fluttered out and dropped onto the floor. Picking it up, Derek recognized it as the piece of paper Stiles had given him at the school. Unfolding it, Derek saw it was the receipt from the garage. The total had been circled in red pen and numbers had been written next to the myriad of services performed on the Jeep. Next to the total Derek had calculated and charged Stiles, there was another number written in black marker— a significantly larger number than the one circled in red. At the top of the paper, as promised, was Stiles’ address in the customer information box. Next to the address, on the line indicating a number to reach the car owner, was Stiles’ cell number— also circled in red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am supposed to be studying for Anatomy and my Comm. class...this Adderall is enabling me to focus on the wrong things!
> 
> As with the first chapter, this is unbeta'd and all mistakes are my own. Feel free to drop any recommendations, grammar/spelling errors, marriage proposals, etc... in the comments.
> 
> Find me on tumblr:  
> personal: anaisnt  
> fandom: isntafan
> 
> Next Update: 02/24


	3. That House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek has dinner at the Stilinski house. He finds himself even more invested in the lives of the Stilinskis, and falling even more for Stiles.

Derek stood in his kitchen, glaring at the pie sitting on the counter. It had been sitting there when he had come home from the garage that afternoon, the note on the box reading, “ _Good luck on your dinner tonight. Don’t fuck it up. xoxo, Laura._ ” Derek was _seriously_ reconsidering his rule against punching women. He looked up at the clock for the millionth time since he had finished getting dressed. 6:25. He was still trying to find a reason to back out of going to dinner, but he couldn’t think of anything that didn’t make him look like an asshole or a coward. Elaborate plans of cancelling his dinner promises were interrupted by his phone ringing.

“Derek, I know you’re in your kitchen trying to come up with a story to tell Stiles. You’re going to this dinner. Get your ass in your car. Now,” Laura didn’t even give Derek a chance to speak when he answered the phone.

“Laur—”

“Derek James Hale. Boyd told me everything _and then some_. You better be on your way in the next 2 minutes or else _I_ am going to go to Stilinski’s house, _myself_ , and I _will_ make a scene.”

She hung up on him with a huff. Derek rolled his eyes and picked up his keys from their place in the ceramic bowl Allison had made him in school. Pulling on his leather jacket, he was almost out the door when he got a text. _Don’t forget the pie. <3333 Laura_

He ran back into the kitchen and grabbed the damn pie.

* * *

 Pulling up into the driveway, Derek got out of the Camaro and took a minute to look at the Stilinski home. It was a plain, brown two-story with green shutters. There were a few toys scattered across the lawn and the Jeep was parked next to a plain brown sedan. Derek groaned inwardly; it must be Stiles’ wife’s car. Bracing himself and trying not to run back to the Camaro, Derek strode forward and rang the doorbell. The door opened narrowly and a familiar scowl greeted him.

“Hi,” Derek looked down at the box in his hand, “Uh, I brought pie.”

“My dad wanted me to tell you you’re not invited to dinner anymore. He didn’t make enough pot roast,” Scott replied coldly. Derek frowned at the boy and ran a hand through his hair. He had no idea how to deal with kids who hated him; that wasn’t in any manual he had ever read. Scott started to close the door on Derek, when two little pairs of hands wrapped around the edge of it.

“Scott’s a big, fat liar!” Derek heard Isaac yell out from behind the door. He didn’t know if he should help push the door or help shut it. Naturally, he stood there and gaped at the children causing a ruckus. After a few more minutes of struggling, Scott gave up and moped into the house.

“Hello, Mr. Derek,” Erica greeted through giggles, “You look extra pretty tonight.”

“Erica, you can’t call boys pretty. That’s for _girls_ ,” Isaac wrinkled his nose at his sister’s compliments.

“No, it’s not. Boys can be pretty, too! Look at Mr. Derek! He’s _pretty.”_

“Why don’t we let Mr. Derek in? We can continue this conversation about his beauty when he’s actually inside,” Stiles was chuckling at Derek’s embarrassment.

Erica eagerly grabbed Derek’s hand and led him inside the house. Walking in, Derek noticed there were boxes around the house. The home looked half-lived in as a whole, while some rooms were still decidedly bare. The trio gave him a brief tour of the downstairs area, showing him through a living room, a den, the kitchen, and a spacious playroom that shared a door with Stiles’ office. There were pictures of the children and Stiles through the rooms Derek was led through, but none of the children’s mother. Not a single frame contained a picture of a woman.

“And that’s our house!” Erica squealed, throwing her hands out wide. The group was in the den again, and Stiles was smiling at his daughter. She was in Derek’s arms, wriggling and hanging her arms around his neck.

“It’s a very nice house,” Derek assured her and Isaac, who had been staring up at him with wide blue eyes. Finally appeased that the house was to Derek’s satisfaction, Isaac nodded and left the security of Stiles’ legs to join Scott on the couch. Derek put Erica down on the floor, and she scampered off to join her brothers.

“Let’s go put that pie in the fridge,” Stiles motioned to the kitchen and Derek nodded before following him.

Inside the kitchen, Derek’s mouth watered as he smelled dinner cooking. Stiles grabbed the pie from his hands and placed it in the fridge, grabbing two beers before shutting it closed. Derek accepted the beer and twisted it open, taking a long swig. Stiles didn’t drink from his beer, but instead looked at Derek expectantly. He shook his head and pinched his nose with his index finger and thumb. Again, Derek noticed the absence of a wedding band on his ring finger.

“Isaac told me what Scott said, while Erica was talking your ear off during the big tour. I’m so sorry. Scott’s…he’s just having a hard time lately,” Stiles traced the label of the bottle with his thumb, looking intently at his motions.

“It’s okay. I just wish I knew why he hated me so much. I didn’t do anything,” Derek trailed off as he though back to their first meeting, “…did I?”

Stiles looked up at him, then. His eyes were narrowed and his eyebrows were drawn together in frustration. Derek flinched and then blushed. He wasn’t sure if he had said something to upset Stiles. All he could think of was how he was here for ten minutes and this dinner was already turning into a fucking disaster.

“You have been nothing but kind and understanding towards my kids. It’s not you or anything you did. Scott just…he has issues, ya know, letting go,” Stiles explained, his face hardening for a second. When he looked at Derek again, it was with a tired sadness that Derek knew all too well. While he was relieved Stiles wasn’t angry with him, Derek felt his stomach tighten. He knew that sadness; he felt it all the time. And he never wanted to see Stiles look that way ever again.

* * *

“How’s the food?” Stiles asked through a mouthful of meat and vegetables. He had filled his bowl of steaming food three times already. Derek couldn’t fathom the inner workings of Stiles’ metabolism; he had completely misjudged the man’s eating habits 

“It’s amazing. I haven’t had pot roast since I was a kid,” Derek said somberly, “My mom made it the best. But this is a very close second.”

Stiles looked at him with that sad smile again. He didn’t press for an explanation and Derek was grateful. He didn’t want to talk about his family. Not when the dinner was going so well. That was a conversation for another time.

“Mr. Derek, what’s your favorite food?” Isaac was looking at him determinedly, like he was trying to put together a puzzle.

“Kittens? Puppies? The souls of small children?” Scott asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. Stiles shot him an icy glare and the grin slid off his face.

“Lasagna, I think. My sister makes the best lasagna in the history of lasagna,” Derek ignored Scott’s remarks and answered Isaac. “Maybe next time, you can have dinner on me. We can all go over to my sister’s restaurant.”

The twins both turned and looked over at their father, faces lit up in matching expressions of eagerness and pleading. Derek grinned at them; he had hoped they would be keen to his invitation. Scott remained quiet at his place at the table.

“I guess we’ll just have to drop by. I mean, if it’s the best in the history of lasagna,” Stiles beamed at Derek. He felt like he could die of happiness when Stiles smiled at him.

“It’d be nice. Laura’d love to meet you,” Derek mumbled through a mouthful of bread and pot roast, “She owns the restaurant across from the police station.”

“Your sister owns the Hungry Wolf Inn?” Stiles’ eyes were wide as his bowl. Derek looked at the kids and all three looked back with matching expressions.

“Yeah, it’s been in our family for years. Why do I get the feeling this is a big deal?”

“Because it’s our favorite place to eat. And before it was ‘our’ favorite place, it was ‘my’ favorite place when I was a kid,” Stiles explained, flailing excitedly.

“Mr. Derek,” Erica spoke with dramatized seriousness and desperation, “You can give us _free_ _food_.” Isaac nodded excitedly in agreement.

Derek laughed loudly in response. _Finally,_ life was throwing something in his favor. Maybe he wasn’t doomed after all.

* * *

After dinner, the pie was served- to the delight of the three children. Four, if you included Stiles. Scott hadn’t said anything else and Derek was hoping he wasn’t hated after all. Laura had chosen wisely, sending him with a spiced Apple and Peach that she had definitely made herself. It was a huge hit with the Stilinski’s; Derek would be thanking her for the rest of his life. After pie and chit chat about school and how cars worked (Isaac had been enthralled with Derek’s car stories), the kids were sent off to bed. Taking this as his cue to leave, Derek had reached for his jacket by the door. Stiles had pulled his hand away and brought him back to the kitchen for coffee and a second slice of pie 

“Thank you,” Derek stuttered out nervously, “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in years.”

“Please. I always cook too much and I wanted to repay you for what you did for me. For us. I should be the one saying thank you. I’m going to need to cook you a thousand dinners before we’re even.”

Stile chuckled and placed his hand on Derek’s arm. Derek flushed and smiled in return. Despite Derek’s usual aversion to affection, this was nice. Derek didn’t feel the need to pull away from Stiles’ touch, rather he felt himself lean into the man’s hand. This was new for Derek; he had never really felt comfortable with people touching him. Allison got away with the rare snuggling or kisses on the cheek here and there, with Derek offering a hug in return sometimes. Even Laura knew there were boundaries when it came to touching; his own sister knew there were certain things she just couldn’t do. But this was different: Derek craved this touch. He didn’t want to jerk away. He didn’t feel like the brush of someone else’s skin on his was burning through him. Derek marveled at just how much this stranger meant to him.

“I just want you all to be safe,” Derek murmured. He was looking Stiles in the eyes now, his former fear and hesitation gone.

Stiles stiffened and pulled his hand away quickly. Derek scrambled back from the table and looked down at his arm, where the ghost of Stiles’ touch still lingered. Everything had been going _so_ well. Why did he have to fuck it up when the night was almost over?

“Derek, there’s something I want to tell you,” Stiles spoke as if he was far away, “Something…I haven’t talked about with anyone else. I don’t know why, but I trust you. I want to tell you about my family.”

Derek nodded at him, waiting for him to continue.

“The day I picked up the Jeep from the garage, Erica was eavesdropping on you and Scott. She overheard what Scott told you and she told me when we got home,” Stiles rubbed the side of his coffee mug as he spoke, “I felt so embarrassed. Here you were, a total stranger, and my moody kid just airs out my dirty laundry. I don’t talk about Hailey; my dad doesn’t even know the whole story. Scott hates me because he thinks I gave up; he doesn’t know that I waited four years for her to come back. Every day for four years, I woke up in an empty bed and pretended she was just away on a trip. Every day for four years, I set the table at dinner with five plates and hoped she would walk in the door. I raised two twin newborns, worked two jobs, and tried to keep Scott from noticing his mom was never going to come back. Four years of panic attacks, no sleep, and crippling depression. One day, I just couldn’t wait anymore: I had to move on with my life and help my kids to do the same.”

“I love my kids so much, Derek. Wallowing and waiting wasn’t going to do anything; I needed to pick up the pieces. I filed for divorce and waited six months before it was finalized. I quit my job, took out every cent of my savings, packed up my life into my Jeep, and moved to the town where I grew up. No one asked about what we had been through. I think my dad was just glad to have me back; he was glad to be able to hold his grandkids. He and my step-mom helped me move into my dad’s old house and I’ve been working from home and homeschooling the twins. But, I have felt so…alone. I love those kids with everything that I am, Derek. But it kills me to know that I can’t be their mom and their dad. Scott, bless his fucking heart, is such a great kid. He’s not biologically mine, but I love him as much as I love the twins. I adopted him when I married Hailey, and it’s always felt like he’s mine.”

“I’m a twenty-six year old single dad living in the house I grew up in with twin five year olds and my adopted 12 year old son. My wife abandoned her family 2 weeks after giving birth to twins. I have felt alone and at the end of my rope for the last five years. And you,” Stiles was crying now, tears rolling down his cheeks as he continued to speak, “You have shown my family kindness at a time when I had almost forgotten the goodness of people. You paid over three grand out of your own pocket to fix up a car that had no business being fixed. You spent two weeks fixing that fucking Jeep when it was ready to go after three days. Frank told me everything you did; he said you showed up every morning to work on that Jeep. He said you were there before he even got to the garage, and you were there after he left. You don’t even know me, but you have done more for my family than my ex-wife ever did.”

Derek was speechless. Stiles was crying into his hands and Derek didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have a chance to feel relief at the words “ex-wife”; he didn’t feel hope for his and Stiles’ future together. Derek just wanted to wrap him in his arms and pull him into his body. He wanted to hold him tightly and tell him he was a great father and the most selfless person he had ever met. He wanted to keep this man and his family and never let them go. For the first time in a long time, Derek wanted to venture out of his routine and mean something to someone new. Carburetors, brake systems, engines: he knew how to fix. But Derek had no idea where to begin repairing the man next to him.

“You’re not alone,” Derek whispered brokenly, “Your kids love you. And when they are old enough to understand, they will appreciate how much you did for them. Scott will be thankful for having a father that is as strong and selfless as you are. Erica and Isaac will be grateful for having a father who raised them by himself and packed up from…wherever, to move his three kids to a place he knew they could have a fresh start. Your kids will be awestruck by what you have given them: a great life, a loving parent, and a way to be whole again. You are not alone, Stiles. You never will be.”

Derek took Stiles’ hands in his, and pulled them from his face. Stiles was still crying, shoulders shaking and eye clenched closed. Derek contemplated what to do for a brief moment, before he got up from his chair and crouched down in front of Stiles. Looking up at his face, Derek waited for him to calm down enough to look at him. He would wait all night if he needed to. After a few minutes of crying, Stiles took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. When their gazes met, Derek intertwined their fingers and tightened the grip on the trembling hands in his grasp.

“L.A.,” Stiles choked out, hiccupping from his sobs. “That’s where we were. Los Angeles.”

Stiles looked so defeated and small, not at all like the bubbly, smiling man Derek had come to know. Derek didn’t know how to fix the cracks, but Derek knew he would try like hell to keep Stiles from falling apart. In that moment, kneeling on the kitchen floor, Derek knew three things: one, he would do everything he could possibly do to help Stiles and his children. Two, he would push his feelings to the back of his mind so he could be there for Stiles. Three, he was painfully and completely in love with the beautiful, broken man holding on to his hands- and his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry if this came out corny; it was getting so long, I had to split it into two chapters. Please let me know of any suggestions or recommendations.
> 
> Find me on tumblr!


	4. Built Of Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a week since Derek had dinner at the Stilinski house. Trying to give Stiles his space, he tries to avoid him and revert back to his life before his infatuation. Laura has other plans.
> 
> Angst ensues.

_Derek was running. His feet slapped against the ground as he tore through the preserve. He was panting heavily, each breath racking through his chest like it could crack a rib. With every inhalation, smoke seemed to seep a bit further into his lungs. He was exhausted and the muscles in his legs screamed at him to stop, but the smell of fire spurned him onward. He pushed himself forward with everything he had, but it was like trying to run through sand. No matter how hard he pushed his legs, he couldn’t seem to get any closer. It was like he was moving in place. He felt on the verge of collapse, but he was no closer to the house than he had been when he started running. Screams pierced the silence of the woods. Biting the inside of his cheek, Derek pumped his arms and frantically sprinted towards the sounds. The taste of blood filled his mouth, but he was a madman: the screams electrocuted something inside him, pulling him forward despite his failing body. He could finally see the smoke and the tips of flames licking the dark sky. Just as he reached the bottom of the hill where the house sat, a woman cackled loudly and sang out his name._

_“Derek, baby,” she crooned, “Where have you been?”_

_He was flinging himself up the slope, frantically wheezing and choking on desperate sobs. Before he could reach the top, the ground beneath his feet gave away to a crushing darkness. Screaming for his mother, he fell into the void. All the while, the woman laughed._

Derek sprang from the mattress as he woke up, his body jerking violently as it was pulled from his dream’s free-fall. He was covered in sweat and gasping, choking on air as he desperately tried to catch his breath. Sometime during his dream, he had actually begun to cry. The taste of blood was real too; he ran his tongue over the bloody chunk of cheek. The nightmare was always the same: Derek desperately trying to reach his family’s old home, but never getting there in time. In a night, one of the town’s biggest and most prominent families was reduced to three members. It had been 16 years since that night.16 years of nightmares and ashes.

Accepting he wasn’t going to get anymore sleep, Derek rolled out of bed and lumbered into the bathroom to shower. He twisted the water on and turned the knob almost all the way to the left, his preferred icy temperature. He scrubbed vigorously at his skin, trying to wake himself up as much as possible and rid his skin of the imaginary ash from his nightmare. If his dream made him a little more tense than usual, he tried not to dwell on it. Feeling clean and a bit raw, Derek stepped out and resigned himself to moving on with his day.

* * *

 

For the last week or so, Derek had wholeheartedly thrown himself into work. He hadn’t spoken to Stiles since the night he went over for dinner, but he replayed it over and over again in his head. Stiles had eventually stopped crying after a few minutes, hands still in Derek’s. Sniffling and shaking, he had gotten up and shown Derek out. He hadn’t been able to look Derek in the eye, head hanging down and stare focused on his shoes. Derek had tried to comfort him, but Stiles cut him off with a broken-sounding, “Goodnight” from the door. Derek didn’t know what to do, so he didn’t call. He didn’t drop by the Stilinski house like Laura nagged at him to do. He didn’t know Stiles well enough to feel like he had the right to drop by and check on him. The best thing Derek thought he could do for the both of them was to give Stiles his space; he could wait until Stiles came to him. Until then, his routine would be enough. So he did what he did best: he avoided dealing with the problem. Once, he had even seen Stiles at the supermarket with Scott. Running to the liquor aisle, he had hidden until he was sure they had left. Avoidance and monotonous routines: these were his coping tools. He would work at the garage and come home, order take out, watch Allison, go to sleep. Repeat. 

Derek got to the garage at his usual time- a little early for the rest of the crew, but he liked the silence of the early morning. The little green Accord in the port needed an oil change and he was hoping he could have it done by that afternoon. He was supposed to pick up Allison later that day, so he tried to clear his work as quickly as possible. This part of his routine, he was glad to resume. It eased something inside him to be around family, even Laura- as demanding and irritating as she could be. Alison was a calming constant in his life and he found pride in his ability to teach her something of she could use for the rest of her life. Today, he had a Ford modular from ’99 waiting in the corner for her; he wanted to make sure she wasn’t get rusty and planned to test her when she arrived.

About twenty minutes later, Derek heard the office’s front door unlock and distinct heavy footsteps. Derek smirked to himself when Frank’s head popped through the door and he gruffed out a “Good morning.” Derek grunted in response and continued working on the Accord. He was interrupted when a police cruiser puttered into the garage’s back lot. A man in uniform got out and walked towards him, a slight limp in his gait. He smiled at Derek and waved awkwardly, before placing his hand on his holster- more so out of habit than to seem intimidating. Derek flinched instinctively, anyway.

“Are you, uh, Derek?” the officer asked haltingly, looking him over. “Derek Hale?”

“How can I help you?” Derek replied, a bit panicked. Now that the officer was standing in front of him, he could see it was the sheriff. Derek was frantically thinking through in his head what would bring the Sheriff to his work at 10 in the morning. Had Laura gotten into trouble? Allison? Had Chris come back and hurt one of his girls? Did someone break into the house? All the scenarios left a tight, panicky feeling in his gut and Derek was trying to suppress his inner turmoil.

The sheriff must have seen his panic, because he reached out to pat him on the back. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble or anything. I just need some work done on one of the cruisers from the station and you came highly recommended,” the sheriff smiled at him warmly and tightened his hold on Derek’s shoulder before letting him go and crossing his arms. “I’m Stiles’ dad. He brought in his jeep a few weeks back?”

Derek sighed in relief and nodded his head. He knew he had recognized Stiles’ last name; Derek had grown up in this town and Sheriff Stilinski had been around since he was a kid. He was actually surprised the sheriff hadn’t retired by now. He was a good man, kind and fair. He had helped Derek and Laura when the house burned; Derek remembered sitting in the sheriff’s office when the man had brought him a Batman blanket and a cup of soup he had made in the office’s microwave. When Stiles had walked into the garage those weeks ago, Derek had an inkling the two were related. It was something in the way they carried themselves and in the way the way they smiled. The two men spoke and Derek brought the cruiser into the garage. The alignment was shot to hell and Derek promised the sheriff he’d have it done in the next couple of days. He could feel the man eyeing him while he wrote up his receipt and set up the cruiser in the carport.

“Listen, Derek,” he said after a few more moments of awkward silence, “Stiles told me what you did for him. With the Jeep and everything. I just wanted to say thank you. Life hasn’t been too kind to my boy and I appreciate it.”

Derek knew it was coming. Jesus, if he had known helping out Stiles would draw so much attention he would’ve thought twice about doing it. _But you still would’ve done it_ , he thought to himself miserably. Facing Stiles’ father, he squared his jaw and crossed his arms against his chest.

“It’s not a big deal. I know how hard it is to be a single parent,” he muttered, not mentioning he hadn’t known Stiles was a single dad until _after_ he had fixed the damn car.

“Do you have kids?” The sheriff’s face was guarded, if a bit curious.

“My sister. Her daughter is Scott’s age.”

“That’s right, Laura’s girl. The wonderful Allison Hale. Scott’s talked about her a few times. She’s a sweet girl,” Sheriff Stilinski chuckled. Damn kid really was as bad at Derek when it came to infatuations.

“I’ll let you get back to work. I have to go back to the station. My deputy’s waiting up in the front lot,” he hesitated, looking at Derek pensively. “I just wanted to say thank you. For what you did.”

Derek nodded again.

“Be good to my son. He’s still healing, but he’s getting there.”

Before Derek could blush or stutter out a question, Sheriff Stilinski was out the door.

* * *

 

After picking up Allison, Derek decided to visit Laura on his way home- but he was starting to regret his restaurant choice a bit. A quiet lunch was quickly turning into an interrogation. Laura jumped at any chance to delve into Derek’s personal life: being his older sister, old habits died hard. Allison, however, was noticeably quiet during the conversation, although he could see her smiling behind her hand. Traitor. 

“He told his daddy about you?” Laura cooed at him. She was leaning on the counter, chin resting in her palms. Derek was, as usual, scowling.

“He thanked me for the, uh, Jeep,” he mumbled. “And he said—well, for Stiles…he asked me to be good to him?”

The last part came out more of a question and his voice most definitely did not crack (his throat was just dry). He was still trying to work out what the man meant; “take care of him” was painfully vague and Derek didn’t know what to think. Had the sheriff been hinting at something? Did Stiles need taking care of? Was Sheriff Stilinski giving him permission to be in his family’s life? _Fuck._ Derek was _not_ lingering on the damn phrase, echoing in his head like a damn mantra. Absolutely not. But, seriously: what the hell does that even _mean?_

“Jesus H. Christ, Derek. That’s _adorable_. Please tell me you have his Papa’s blessing to jump his bones.”

Derek choked on the water he had tried to gulp down, spluttering all over his shirtfront. He glared at Laura, who was laughing, doubled over behind the counter. Allison chuckled and when he turned his glare towards her, she shrugged.

“Language, Laura. **_Your_** **_daughter_** can hear you.”

Laura mirrored Allison’s shrug and leaned over to leave an obnoxious wet kiss on the girl’s cheek. As the girls squealed and fought over sloppy cheek kisses, Derek turned back to his burger. The door jingled and a familiar voice giggled behind him.

“Be quiet, Erica. He’s gonna hear us,” Isaac tried to whisper, but it sounded more like an angry rasp.

Little footsteps came running and stopped right behind Derek’s stool. Before he could turn around to play-growl at a twin, little arms were thrown around his waist. He tried to reach around, but he only succeeded in making the little girl squeal and giggle. Two more jingles sounded.

“Erica! Really? Please step away from the strange man,” Stiles yelped out, sounding out of breath.

Derek finally managed to pull Erica into his arms and stood up, managing to hold onto the flailing child (yet another trait she had inherited from her father). Freezing in place as he saw Derek, he paused mid-walk. Stiles’ eyes were wide and he froze in his place as Scott came in through door behind him. Derek felt himself tense when he took in Stiles’ panicked face. He wasn’t sure what kind of hello he had been expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t one like this. Erica slid down from her perch on his hip, still clinging onto his hand when she reached the floor. He didn’t know what to do, so he stood awkwardly while Erica swung their arms back and forth. The two men stared at each other in silence until Laura cleared her throat from the counter.

“Wanna join us for lunch?” she flashed them a wide smile and winked at Isaac. She had one hand on her hip and a coffee carafe in the other. Stiles, in turn, begrudgingly shifted his gaze from Derek’s face. He was flushing now and Isaac was clinging to his pant leg. He nodded and grinned weakly, more a fleeting upturn of the corners of his mouth than anything.

“Take a seat up here at the counter, “ Laura said warmly, placing menus and napkins at the four spots to Allison’s right.

Allison waved at Scott and patted the empty seat at her left. Scott’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in a huge “O”. The boy waved back in a stupor before he scrambled to the seat next to her, ignoring Derek’s frown. He sat up and looked shyly at Allison before picking up the menu and hiding behind it. Allison, to her credit, chuckled and looked down at her sandwich. Stiles and Derek, meanwhile, slowly made their way to the counter with the twins at their sides.

“Well, I guess it’s a lunch date,” Laura teased, sticking her tongue out at Allison when the girl scowled back. Derek was starting to see the resemblance.

His amusement was cut short when he realized Allison had switched his seat, his plate now to her right and Scott sitting in his seat at her left- forcing him to sit next to Stiles. _Damn_ _traitor_. Sitting down, Stiles made sure not to touch him- stiffly arranging himself so his body was tilted away from Derek. Erica, however, was not aboard the “Derek had cooties” train: instead, she crawled back into his lap and cuddled into his chest, eating his fries as she snuggled. He was too busy wallowing in embarrassment to stop her or complain. He could hear the shutter of Allison’s phone as she snapped a few photos. 

* * *

 

 

“Booger, don’t eat Mr. Derek’s food. C’mon we’ll get you your own,” Stiles spoke from behind his menu. 

“It’s fine. We can share until her food comes out,” Derek was staring at Stiles’ profile, trying not to look like the creeper he knew he was. Stiles’ distance was unnerving and he didn’t know what to do to make it stop. Stiles glanced at him, a quick furtive flash of his eyes.

“I don’t want her getting used to eating off of stranger’s laps.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him. Stiles’ comment hurt a little more than he would like to admit. Strangers? Really? He didn’t exactly think they were best friends, but he hadn’t thought they were _strangers_. He frowned and pulled Erica off his lap, standing up. Stiles had put the menu down on the counter, but he wasn’t looking at him. Derek needed to escape before he said something stupid. Laura cast him a furious glance, but he muttered something about having to go to the bathroom and he scrambled away.

Closing the door, he turned and leaned forward on the sink. What was he doing? Why was he so worked up? These things took time, he understood that; he had enough emotional baggage of his own to know opening up to someone was painful and forming new relationships was a struggle. No one knew emotionally damaged quite like Derek: the man was panicking, borderline sulking, in the bathroom of his sister’s restaurant. He figured he could wait it out, come out when the Stilinski’s left.

“Derek?” Stiles rapped against the door softly. Derek swore and grimaced at himself in the mirror. Maybe if he was quiet enough, Stiles wouldn—

“Derek? I know you’re hiding in there.  Please come out,” Stiles pleaded, sounding equally irritated and concerned. And wow, Stiles was _pleading_. Could this get any more embarrassing? Derek sighed in frustration before unlocking and opening the door.

* * *

 

“Ha. I knew you weren’t pooping,” Stiles quipped. He was toying with the hem of his sweatshirt and smirking. Looking up at Derek, he resumed his habitual lip chewing. 

“Sorry. I jus—,” Derek began, but Stiles silenced him as he pushed by him into the bathroom.

“I need to talk to you. I feel like I say that every time I see you, man. Ugh.”

Now enclosed in the tiny bathroom, Derek had nowhere to hide. They stood on opposite ends of the small room for a few minutes, awkwardly appraising each other, until Stiles breathed out a whoosh of air and slid down to sit on the closed toilet. Derek leaned against the sink, resigning himself to looking calm and collected. _Yeah, okay._

“So...that elephant in the room,” Stiles quipped. There was no way this conversation could be any more awkward. Derek was trying to burn a hole through a crooked tile on the floor.

“Last week, I kind of— it was wrong of me to dump all that on you. It was supposed to be a ‘thank you’ dinner, for fuck’s sake,” Stiles was staring up at the ceiling, his hands around the back of his neck. He looked miserable. “I was so embarrassed; I still am. I wanted to call, but I didn’t want you to think I was desperate. I wanted you to call, but I thought maybe you were just…overwhelmed. I didn’t know. I think I saw you at the market on Friday? But when I turned around to say hi, you were already gone.” Derek wondered if he crawled into the sink, maybe he could just disappear down the drain. _Fuck my life_.

“I’m not always this much of a hot mess, I promise. Anyway, I didn’t mean to avoid you…I’m just so mortified I had a full on _emotional breakdown_ in front of you. I didn’t know what to say to you. And with Erica just now. I didn’t mean—I-I didn’t realize,” he stuttered out, blushing again, “Jesus, I suck at this. Please tell me I didn’t scare you off.” He slapped his hands to his face.

Derek’s eyes shot up, his mouth opening slightly in disbelief. Like Stiles really needed to apologize for needing time. The only thing he really needed to apologize for was the way his shirt was riding up in the back, exposing the sliver of skin above his jeans. And for biting his lip. And for having enormous hands that Derek needed to feel on him, _right now_. _Oh my God_. Derek was getting distracted again.

“You don’t have to apologize. I get it,” Derek blurted out. “I know what it’s like to be afraid of opening up, but to want to share your burden with someone.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Derek admitted quietly, “I wish I was as brave as you.”

Stiles openly gaped at him now, hands falling to his lap. His carefully composed nervousness was completely gone. Pink was spreading across his cheeks and ears, and down onto his neck. _If his eyebrows go up any further,_ Derek thought _, his hairline is going to absorb them_. Derek suddenly couldn’t stand still. He couldn’t let Stiles say anything until he was really done speaking. Before he could comprehend what his body was doing, he pushed off the sink and strode forward to stand in front of Stiles. He wanted to place a hand on his shoulder or on his arm; it seemed so effortless when Stiles or Laura did it, but he couldn’t seem to move his arm. He winced as his finger twitched. _Fuck it_. For so long, Derek had shut himself away. He had felt his skin crawl at the slightest touch of someone who wasn’t his sister or his niece. It had been close to sixteen years since he had willingly touched another person. But he wanted this now; this moment was his for the taking. Years of interpersonal relationship issues be damned, he was going to touch someone and not feel like combusting. Slowly, he placed a hand on each side of the Stiles’ face, giving them both a chance to back away. Stiles slowly slid his eyes from Derek’s chest to the green eyes boring into his own. Neither of them moved away.

Derek’s stomach was flipping. The warmth of Stiles’ cheeks melted away any apprehension he had felt. This was right. There was no mistaking this touch for something casual or platonic; this touch was not friendly. There was no going back from this.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Derek whispered, “I would’ve listened to you all night.”

Stiles swallowed loudly and licked his bottom lip, not moving his eyes away from Derek’s. This was their moment of truth; everything Derek had been feeling for the past month depended on what happened next. He needed some sort of validation this wasn’t a waste of time. Stiles placed a hand over one of Derek’s and glanced down at his shoes, chewing on his lip again. Derek’s heart was thumping in a frenzied cacophony, threatening to punch right out of his chest. He wanted to cry or laugh or—

He surged forward and kissed him full on the mouth, teeth clacking together for the briefest of seconds. Stiles didn’t seem to notice, matching Derek’s eagerness with his own desperation. Derek felt like he could die. Stiles’ lips were warm and slightly chapped, moving against Derek’s without any hesitation. They fumbled for a moment as Stiles brought his arms around Derek’s neck. Sliding an arm around Stiles waist and another behind his leg, Derek awkwardly managed to pick him up from the toilet and drop him none too gently on the sink counter. Legs wrapped around his waist and Stiles sucked his top lip into his mouth, before biting at it gently. Despite being in cramped bathroom, the kiss was everything Derek needed it to be. He brushed his tongue along Stiles’ bottom lip, which had him shivering slightly in response. Pulling away, Derek pressed smaller kisses on the man’s mouth and chin. He nosed along his jaw and peppered more soft kisses on each the moles that spread over his cheeks. Suddenly, Stiles tensed and pulled back.

“We’re making out in a bathroom,” he gulped. “While your niece and sister watch my kids.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow, pulling away to stare at the man in front of him. Stiles’ hair was mussed and his eyes were wild. His lips were red and wet and there was a redness spreading across his neck and cheeks where Derek’s stubble had rubbed him raw. He looked beautiful…and terrified.

“I shouldn’tve…Oh, my God. I can’t. This—,” he choked out, “This was a mistake.”

He pushed Derek away and scrambled off the sink, tears stinging in his eyes. Derek tried to stop him, tried to salvage the moment that was crashing down around him. But Stiles was already stumbling towards the door, hand rubbing at his face.

“Stiles, wait. _Please_.” It was Derek’s turn to plead now. His hand was outstretched, but he didn’t know exactly what he was reaching for.

“I’m sorry.”

And then he was alone in the bathroom once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY.
> 
> This chapter was a monster and I hope it wasn't too long. Hopefully, Chapter 05 will be up in another week. I'm not making any promises, though, so don't hold me to it. Updates will be slowing down due to school chaos.
> 
> As usual, let me know if there are any glaring mistakes...and typos, I hate typos. Also feel free to leave comments and/or bother me on tumblr.


	5. A Place Where I Don't Feel Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets some unlikely help in the aftermath of his last encounter with Stiles. But for every step forward, it seems like he takes two steps back. Laura and Allison get a visitor from the past and it might not be what it seems.

“Okay, so you went for it. You went for it and it didn’t work out exactly how you’d hoped,” Laura was going for reassuring, but Derek thought she was falling a little flat.

“ _How_ is this supposed to be making me feel better?” he grunted out. He was sprawled on his back, feet hanging off the couch and head lying in Allison’s lap. She was carding her hands through his hair and he was trying- unsuccessfully- to stay annoyed with Laura. But Allison’s hands were too soothing. He would have to have a talk with her later about picking sides…

“I wasn’t finished,” Laura reprimanded him. “I was _going_ to say even though it didn’t work out exactly how you’d hoped, you can still _do something_ about it. You need to make him understand where you are, in your head and whatnot. You’ve been pining, Derek. Pining. For like two months, now.”

Laura emphasized pining like it was something distasteful, nose scrunched up and lips curled.

“Bear,” Allison cooed from above him, her hands on either side of his head, “I think you should go to Mr. Stilinski’s house and tell him how you feel. Maybe he’s freaking out, too.”

Derek looked into her big brown eyes, equally full of concern and amusement, and he frowned. She giggled and pulled the corners of his mouth into a smile with her fingers. He was succumbing to that giggle and that godawful nickname. A man could only stay so strong in the face of adorable nieces.

“Derek, please,” Laura didn’t plead often. Face serious and tone sincere, she reached over the sofa and took one of his hands in hers. “Do it. Go. Or you’ll regret it.”

* * *

 

Back from his lunch break with his girls, Derek was signing off on the week’s expense reports when the office door slammed open. Looking up from behind his glasses, he saw Scott red-faced and sweaty. The boy looked simultaneously embarrassed and furious, which Derek wouldn’t have thought possible before seeing him. 

“Derek, can I, uh, talk to you?” Out of breath, Scott’s question came out between pants.

“What’s wrong?” Derek turned to face him, taking off his glasses, and slowly stood. Something had to be seriously wrong for Scott to go to garage. He debated putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but it didn’t feel natural. He offered the seat in front of his desk instead. Scott shook his head no and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. He bit his lip and frowned down at the floor before inhaling deep.

“You need to fix it,” he mumbled miserably.

Derek had no idea what he was talking about. Scott glanced up at Derek’s blank face and growled out a choked noise of frustration. Both of his hands flew up to his face and he rubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes. The gesture was so Stiles, it made Derek’s stomach clench at the sight.

“I don’t know what happened, but you need to fix it!” Scott was yelling now, hands still covering his eyes. It almost looked like he was trembling. “My dad is…he’s miserable. He won’t listen to me and I don’t know what to do. He’s just so sad and I don’t—I guess maybe. Please just fix it.”

Scott dropped his hands to look up at Derek and he sniffled. His eyes were red and watery, he was trying so hard not to cry and his shoulders were shaking from his efforts. Derek wanted so badly to reach out, to comfort the boy in front of him. Fighting his instinct to bury his hands in his pockets and move away, he raised his arm and gingerly placed his hand on Scott’s shoulder. The touch was uncomfortable and rigid, but Scott relaxed under it anyway. He choked out a sob and fell into Derek’s chest. He had no idea what to do; until today, Scott had either mumbled verbal abuse at him or avoided him. He patted Scott’s back softly, afraid of doing anything else.

“I’ll try,” he whispered, “I promise I’ll try.”

* * *

 

Stiles was trying to concentrate on the picture journals he had assigned the twins for the week. He also had a few papers to grade from his side job as a professor’s assistant at the local college. Busying himself up with work had mostly taken his mind off the catastrophe that was the attempted Stilinski-Hale family lunch date. The last couple of days had been hell, with the twins fighting incessantly and Scott following him around like his shadow. He knew he meant well, but Stiles shut him out; Scott shouldn’t have to shoulder his father’s emotional baggage as well as his own. 

That morning had been particularly horrific. For the first time in his life, he had yelled at Scott. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. Scott’s entire face had fallen and before Stiles could say anything, he was out the door and on his bike. Erica wasn’t speaking to him other than to call him “poopface” and Isaac had cried for an hour. So here he was, moping on the living room floor as the twins colored- Erica in violent swirls and zigzags, Isaac in flowing lines and shapes. The doorbell rang and Stiles shot up, hoping Scott had cooled down enough to listen to his apology.

“Scott, I am so so—“ he cut himself off with a squeaky sounding yelp. Derek was standing behind Scott, gently leaning the blue bike against the wall. Scott refused to look up at Stiles- opting, instead, to glare at the welcome mat. Stiles reached out to bring him into a hug, but Scott swerved out of his reach and ran into the house. His shoes clumped up the stairs and a door slammed shut a few seconds later. The awkward silence that followed was unbearable.

“You kissed me back,” Derek blurted out. “I felt it. I kissed you first, but you kissed me back.” Stiles, who had turned toward the house after Scott ran by, whipped back around. He took in Derek’s face, the pained expression and the tautness of his mouth. He couldn’t think of what to say to make that look disappear; for once, he was completely at a loss for words. He was angry with Derek for bringing it up. For being here, in front of his door. For being the person Scott went to.

“I didn’t mean to,” he bit out nastily. But even he could feel the lie rest heavily on his tongue. “It was a mistake.”

He heard Derek’s sharp gasp, but when he looked up his face was a blank mask. _You’re two for two on shitty responses to people you care about. Way to go, Stilinski._ Stiles bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He was hoping Derek would just leave it at that and walk away, but part of him wanted Derek to call him out on his bullshit. He internally rejoiced when Derek shook his head and turned away, walking back to his car. Stiles shut the door and fell against it, exhaling painfully as the breath he had been holding in rushed out at once. Now that he could think straight, a part of him silently weeped; he was slightly disappointed Derek had given up. _But this is what you wanted, isn’t it?_ His conscience was feeling exceptionally snarky today. His pity party, however, was promptly interrupted by the aggressive knocking on the door. The twins were peaking around the corner at all the commotion. He shooed them away and set up their math assignment for the day. The knocking intensified and he scrambled back to open the door.

“No. You don’t get to do that,” Derek forced out through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to invite me into your life, ask me to be there for you, and then shut me out.” He strode forward and placed a hand on the doorframe.

“I didn’t ask you to do anything for me!” Stiles felt his heart pounding, threatening to fling itself through his chest. He was on the verge of a panic attack, but he couldn’t bring himself to push Derek through the doorframe. He needed to hear what came next.

“I’m not jumping on the ‘I don’t deserve to be happy’ bandwagon. I’m not going to give up and leave because you feel like hating yourself and sabotaging this- whatever _this_ is,” Derek gestured between them and took another step inside. Stiles didn’t move. Frozen in place, he met Derek’s stare.

“If you can honestly tell me you regret what happened in that fucking bathroom, I’ll leave.”

Stiles pushed down the panic rising in his throat. He would not back down from the eyes boring into his own. Steeling himself, he stood still as Derek brought a hand up to his jaw.

“If you can look me, full in the face, and tell me you don’t want me the same way I want you: I promise I’ll get in my car and leave.”

“What if,” Stiles croaked, his throat suddenly dry as the damn Mojave. “What if I can’t?”

Derek’s smile was, for a moment, so painfully hopeful and warm- he had to look away. Clenching his eyes closed, Stiles fought against every instinct that told him to lean into the warm palm at his neck. He froze when another hand came up to the other side of his jaw. _Why am I fighting this? What am I even doing?_

“I don’t know if I’m okay enough to be with someone again.”

 _Derek deserves to hear it_ , he thought. He opened his eyes, finding Derek closer to his face than before. He sucked in a breath. Jesus, Derek didn’t even look real. Big green-gold eyes, warm and bright, fixed on him in a glare that was surprisingly adoring. Those thick, dark eyebrows were furrowed deeply and he wanted so badly to reach out and straighten them with his thumb. It took him a moment to realize he was actually thumbing said eyebrows, freezing upon the realization.

“I’m not sure I can be enough for you,” Stiles was trying not to sound as wrecked and broken as he felt.

“I’m not asking you to be anything,” Derek spoke softly, face relaxing under Stiles’ touch. Stiles melted a bit at hearing those words. He was still terrified; he felt like he was at the edge of a cliff and he couldn’t see the bottom. He didn’t like not knowing what was in front of him. Terrible things happened when you took a leap into the unknown. Stiles liked predictable and comfortable: he liked knowing what he was getting himself into. But when Derek leaned in, agonizingly slow, to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth- Stiles shifted to kiss him fully. He kissed him back, hard and deep. Wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck, Stiles realized all he could do was jump off the cliff and hope Derek would jump with him.

* * *

 

Derek promised he would wait a day or two before telling Laura, revenge for her nagging and general nosiness. Five minutes into his drive home, however, his phone buzzed on the passenger seat. _Lintlicker_ came up on the screen and he answered the phone with a groan.

“I FUCKING TOLD YOU!” Laura screeched.

Derek swerved slightly as he jerked in response. One of these days, she was actually going to kill him.

“I don’t kno—“

“Shut up, Allison already told me everything.”

“Wait, what? But, she doesn—How?”

“Scott and her were texting. He gave her a play-by-play.”

 _What a little shit._ Derek thought Scott had been in his room for his and Stiles’ conversation. He would’ve toned it down had he known there were spies in the house. He groaned at Laura as she rambled on about being “consistently and absolutely right” about “everything”. Allison giggled hysterically in the background.

“Derek. I’m going to have to call you back.” Derek snapped out of his melancholy at the sound of Laura’s voice, which sounded cold and panicked. She was trying hard to sound casual, but Derek could _feel_ her panic through the phone.

“Laura. What’s wrong?” Derek pulled over, not trusting himself to drive with the dread filling his gut.

Laura hung up without responding. Derek cursed, but before he could throw his phone down on the seat it buzzed with a text from Allison.

_Get here. Now._

Allison wasn’t usually one for dramatics, so Derek spun around in a sharp u-turn before barreling towards Laura’s apartment. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he reached the complex. Parking crookedly, Derek jumped out and ran towards the stairs. Taking them two at a time, he reached the door and slammed the knocker a handful of times until Allison flung it open. Her face was stricken and ashen, eyes wide in fear.

“Bear,” she choked out.

Derek pulled her into his arms and walked inside. Coming into the kitchen, he saw Laura standing across from a man. He was average height and lean, muscular frame lithe enough to make him come across as unassuming. Derek recognized him at once. Jaw now thickly stubbled, once brown hair turning grey, and a myriad of lines aged his familiar face. He nodded at Laura once before turning to regard Derek.

“Derek,” he said tersely.

“Chris,” Derek replied, his grip on Allison tightening. “You’re a few years late.”

Chris tensed, his hands tightening on the kitchen counter. Laura was looking back and forth between her daughter and the man in front of her. Laura put her cup in the sink and softly took Chris’ shoulder in her hand. He turned to look at her and eased under her touch.

“Chris, we’ll continue this discussion later,” she spoke with a careful finality.

He looked over at Allison and Derek once more before turning his gaze back to Laura. He nodded once and leaned over to kiss her cheek. Laura stilled and pulled away, walking over to open the door. Chris’ shoulders sagged, but he regained his composure before walking past Derek. It took all of Derek’s self-control not to shove him off the balcony when the man bent to kiss Allison’s cheek. Allison flinched away and turned her face into Derek’s chest, refusing to say goodbye. Chris straightened and fixed a glare at Derek that cut to his core; it was all at once menacing, broken, and envious. Derek, to his credit, stood his ground and clutched Allison tighter to him. Walking out the door, Laura whispered something to him and then he was gone.

* * *

 

“What did he want?” Derek asked, his voice seemed to boom in the stifling silence. The three of them were now crowded together on the couch. Allison was folded into Laura’s lap, where she had fallen asleep. Laura looked visibly shaken, but she was holding herself together for Derek’s benefit.

“He’s moving back into town,” she replied softly, “And he wants to ‘fix what he broke’. His words, not mine."

Derek looked over at Laura. She was one of the strongest people he had ever met; he loved his sister with a fierceness he had felt since they were children. He admired her for her tenacity and for her selflessness. She put everyone first and never expected anything back. Now, curled around her daughter and eyes red from crying, she looked so small and young.  Derek felt helpless.

“Der, I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t know how to say what he felt or if it was his place to offer up advice. The best he could do was let Laura cuddle into his chest and rub her back as she silently cried. He knew she cried for years lost. For her beautiful, strong daughter. For their family, broken but healing. For the man who left her. But all Derek could do was feel what she felt and offer solidarity in the face of the impending storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for big brother feels and for Scott being rad. This update was kinda short because it was kind of lumped with the last chapter. Last happy-happenings for a while, but hang in there: it gets better. Also, more on Chris and Laura coming soon.
> 
> Next update will be Friday, the 22nd, or Saturday, the 23rd. Expects tears.
> 
> As usual, comments and complaints are always welcome. Find me on tumblr if y'all wanna chat.


	6. All of the Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles decides to take a leap of faith and invites Derek over. The two decide to put everything out in the open, but what happens when someone eavesdrops on their conversation?

“More tea?” Stiles was trying to prolong the conversation as much as possible. In the weeks that followed their doorstep confessions the day Derek had brought Scott home, the two men had resumed their awkward courtship. The days Derek picked Allison up from school, Stiles may have timed picking up Scott so he could bump into Derek. They would smile awkwardly at each other and stand in comfortable silence, neither wanting to venture out into the terrifying forays of conversation other than to (sometimes) make small talk. A few times, there would be a kiss goodbye or a gentle squeeze as they held hands. Eventually, Stiles knew he and Derek would have to have the “what are we?” conversation. So, after much procrastination and many phone calls to Laura, Stiles called Derek and invited him over for brunch. _Because that doesn’t sound shady as fuck, Stiles. Brunch? Really?_

“Stiles,” Derek sighed and managed to sound only a tiny bit exasperated, “Why’d you ask me to come over?”

Fumbling with his mug, Stiles squirmed in his seat before settling back against the sofa. He was close enough to Derek that their legs were touching and it was driving him insane. Reaching over, he placed his mug on the table and took one of Derek’s hands in his. He continued to fiddle with the callused fingers as he spoke.

“I think we should, you know, talk. About us. About what _this_ is. About figuring things out and being…” he stole a glance at Derek, “together.”

Derek turned to look at him, then. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak; he looked pensive, not at all intimidated. _Maybe brunch had been a good plan, after all._ _Way to go, brunch._ Derek relaxed and nodded his head, motioning for Stiles to continue.

“Okay, so I haven’t been in a relationship with anyone since…Hailey. Well, okay- I mean, I dated. I did the casual fling. Hooked up with whoever bought me a drink at the bar, man or woman: I wasn’t picky. But I’m done with that. I don’t want to punish myself anymore,” he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “I want something real again; being alone isn’t something I want anymore. If you can be patient with me, I’d like to really give ‘us’ a shot.”

Derek was looking at him with so much hope and adoration, Stiles giggled. It sounded a little hysterical, even to his own hears. Derek slid his fingers through those of the hand holding his. Stiles squeezed tightly for a moment before rubbing the back of the big, rough hand with his thumb. Derek gulped, and Stiles couldn’t help staring longingly at the man’s Adam’s apple as his throat moved. The ball was in Derek’s court now; Stiles had said his piece.

* * *

  

Derek was sure if he opened his mouth to speak, his heart would topple out. But Stiles looked so mortified and uncomfortable, he knew he had to put him out of his misery.

“I want you,” he said earnestly. “But I need to know we’re on the same page. Trust me, I’ve had my share of shitty relationships and I still carry some of that baggage.”

Stiles’ head shot up and he leveled Derek with an empty stare. Derek tightened his hold on his hand and straightened up, meeting the stare with his own. Until now, he had never really mentioned his past. But he owed Stiles as much and there was no way he was backing down now.

“I’ve learned how to deal with it and I’m still learning how to heal. I need to know you’re trying, too. We shouldn’t have to compete with memories of people for each other: it’s not fair to either of us,” Derek took Stiles’ face in one of his hands, running his thumb across the moles on his cheek.

“If you want us as much as I do, I need to know you’re really here with me.”

Stiles sighed again and leaned back, eyes staring up at the ceiling, but he made no attempt to move away from Derek’s touch. He could tell him everything; once he was sure Stiles would meet him halfway, Derek would let out everything he had been keeping in for the last sixteen years. Derek didn’t want to bring up painful memories from Stiles’ past, but he had to get everything out in the open. How could either of them really give this whole thing a shot unless everything was on the table? He wouldn’t share Stiles with a ghost.

“Hailey is gone,” Stiles let out the name is a small-sounding whisper. “I knew that the day she left, but I spent five years fighting it. Scott kept hoping; he would tell me he knew she’d come back for him. For us. And I think part of me _wanted_ to believe him. But I knew better; I knew the day she left, she wasn’t gonna be coming back. I didn’t have the heart to tell my own son, but I knew. I felt it in my bones. And I’m done clinging onto the memories I have of her. I can’t stand the looks I get when people call me a divorcee. I hate the way my hand looks without a ring on that fucking finger. I’m tired of waking up alone in a bed too big for one person. I’m so tired of going to parent-teacher conferences and the pitiful glances I get when I say ‘It’s just me.’ I want my family to move on. I want to move past her and the damage she did to my kids.”

Stiles was looking at Derek again, calm and steady. Derek had never heard Stiles sound so sure of anything.

“Derek- she’s gone, I _know_ that. But now, I can honestly say I don’t want her to come back. Not anymore.”

Before Derek could say anything, the kitchen door slammed. Scott was standing in front of them for a second, eyes wide in fear and hurt. Stiles dropped Derek’s hands and stood up, hands outstretched and eyes pleading. But Scott flinched, taking a step away from him.

“You lied,” he choked out, shaking his head as if to shake out the words he had heard. Derek swore his heart shattered the moment the first tear dripped from the boy’s face.

And then Scott was gone.

* * *

 

After Scott ran out of the house, Stiles had made Derek drive around the neighborhood in search of the boy. In Scott’s desperation to get out of the house, he had left his inhaler and anxiety medication in his room. Taking it with them into the car, Derek drove slowly throughout the housing tract and nearby parks. Derek called Allison, but she hadn’t heard from Scott since the day before. Slowly, Stiles’ nervous fidgeting turned into quiet sobs after three hours of driving around without seeing a sign of the boy. Derek, eventually, had to call the Sheriff. They had continued searching throughout Beacon Hills, putting out an alert and asking for volunteers to join the search. One of the benefits of living in a small town was the fact that everyone knew everyone; they had a team of concerned and willing townspeople before they could even agree on a place to search first. 

They had been combing through the preserve for hours, now. The Sheriff, a team of deputies, Stiles, Derek, and many more volunteers. Allison agreed to watch the twins while Laura joined the search party, on the condition Derek update her on any news on Scott. Derek didn’t have time to mope over Allison’s keen interest in Scott and his well-being; he just needed to have the twins in hands in he could trust.

* * *

 

Derek stopped to lean on a tree, Stiles standing in front of him with his hands on his hips. Worry was etched in his face and his nails were long since bitten off into stubbs. They were deep in the preserve and it was almost nine o’clock at night; the search had been ongoing for almost eight hours. His own throat was rough from calling out Scott’s name and he knew Stiles’ was just as shot. _Damn it, Scott. Where are you?_

“Maybe we should split up,” Stiles muttered, sounding defeated. He looked at Derek with wide eyes, red-rimmed even in the dark.

“Stiles—,” Derek started, but the man was already turning away from him and heading down the hill.

Guilt swelled in his gut, weighing him down and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew it wasn’t directly his fault Scott had run off, but he felt like there was something he could have done. Something he could’ve have said. Maybe if he had taken a different turn when he and Stiles had been driving around town. Maybe if he had thought to check the preserve first. He felt helpless and he couldn’t even imagine Stiles’ pain. Stiles hadn’t spoken to him the entire day, other than to ask him to turn left or shine the flashlight. Derek knew he was just trying to hold it together, but it still made him restless. It felt like he hadn’t done anything right all day.

* * *

 

Derek turned right and climbed up the hill. After a few minutes, Derek recognized the path he was following. The trees were long since dead and the grass disappeared to give way to rocks and tangled weeds. His heart dropped and his breathing seemed to catch in his lungs. It was one of the only places the search party hadn’t looked through in the whole preserve. Whether out of respect for Derek or out of the innate fear of searching through the remains of the house- Derek couldn’t tell. He was still about a mile away from the actual house, but he recognized the area well enough. It had been sixteen years since he had stepped foot on the old Hale property; the last time he had seen his house, he was wrapped in blankets and watching the flames consume wood and brick from the confines of an ambulance.

Steeling himself, Derek took a deep breath and jogged up the path. Reaching the house, he stopped mid-stride. The blackened shell seemed to sprout from the ground like a mangled black tree, the wood splintered and charred. There was dilapidated tape and fencing around the house, Beacon Hills’ attempt to keep people out and from getting hurt. The city had agreed to respect the Laura and Derek’s wishes to leave the house be: with the condition that they fence off the area. The liability of someone coming in to snoop around and falling through the foundation or otherwise hurting themselves inside the remains of the house was too great. Looking closely, however, Derek could see a corner of the fencing had rusted and turned inward. He walked toward it and crouched, inspecting it. The rust had weakened the fence, making it much easier to bend and contort. The hole between the warped corner and the ground was fairly large: not big enough for someone Derek’s size to slip underneath, but there was plenty of room for someone smaller. Someone teenager-sized. Someone Scott-sized. Derek got back up to his feet and inspected the top of the fence. There was no barbed wire, but the tops were jagged and rusted as well. Being careful to avoid the jagged edges, Derek climbed up and threw himself over the top. Getting back over would be a challenge, but for now he focused on looking for Scott.

“Scott!” Derek bellowed, though his voice was raspy and strained. It echoed through the gigantic shell. After a few minutes of silence, he walked up the stairs and onto the porch. Something metallic shined in the blackness of the night and when Derek turned the flashlight, he could make out Scott’s blue bike lying on the porch. Derek didn’t know whether to feel relief or fear; he _knew_ he would find Scott here, but he had hoped he would be wrong. He called out again, but was only met with more silence.

The door had long since broken off its hinges, leaving a hole in the front face of the wall. Derek gingerly climbed through it and shined his flashlight inside. The top floors were visible through gaping holes, the night sky visible through gaps in the third floor’s ceiling. Guided by moonlight and flickering beams from his flashlight, he picked his way over debris and fallen shambles of the once great columns in the entryway.

“Scott! Please tell me you’re still here,” he called out. Straining his ears, he listened for any sign of life. A soft rustling came form his left and Derek whipped around. He held his breath as he listened and after a moment the same rustling came again.

He made his way towards what was once the den as quickly as he could. Tripping over the remains of the door, he tripped and slammed down to the ground. Something jabbed sharply into his head, right above his left eye. Immediately, he felt warmth trickle down. Wiping the blood from his face, Derek looked up from his place on the floor: he could make out a heap of something just ahead. He scrambled up on his elbows and frantically felt around for his flashlight. Finally feeling the cold metal in his left palm, he thumbed it back on and shined it in the direction of the heap he had seen before. The light illuminated a familiar shaggy head and blue jacket he had seen earlier and his heart swelled with hope.

“Scott,” he called softly. “Buddy, are you okay?”

No answer came to him. Derek crawled towards the boy and upon reaching him, he gathered him close to his chest. He checked his pulse, fingers scrambling around his neck to find the right point. A fluttering, soft _thump_ met his fingers under the skin and Derek sobbed out in relief. Scott’s breathing was labored and his eyes were gently shut, but he was alive. _Oh thank God. You little shit, you’re alive. Oh thank, God._

 _"_ It's okay, I got you," he whispered. "I found you."

Cradling Scott against his chest, Derek slowly got to his feet and made his way to the door. Once he was back outside, he stumbled down the hill with Scott in his arms. Sobs racked through him as he clutched the boy closer to him. Shifting the boy in his arms, he made his way back to the bath. He reached into his pocket and fumbled around for his phone. Bringing up the contacts list, he dialed on instinct.

“Stiles,” he choked out through sobs. “I found him, he’s here. I got him.”

* * *

 

“Here, son,” the Sheriff handed him a cup of coffee. He smiled warmly down at Stiles, but worry and pain was etched into the lines around his eyes. 

Stiles perked up from his cramped place in the chair. Stiles hated hospitals. The smell, the cold white walls, the stiff chairs: it all got under his skin. He reached out and sipped at the drink with a grimace. Jesus, even the coffee was terrible.

“How is he?” his father asked, reaching out to card a finger though Scott’s hair.

“He’ll be okay. He needs rest, mostly,” Stiles replied. He rubbed his eyes and settled his hand back on Scott’s. “Melissa said he was lucky Derek got to him when he did: he had an asthma attack in the ambulance and went into shock…who knows what would’ve happened if he was alone when—”

“Scott’s fine. We found him. You’re all gonna be okay.”

Stiles swallowed down the panic rising in his throat. _He’s gonna be okay. He’s fine._ He repeated the words to himself and inhaled deeply. He did the breathing exercises his therapist taught him when he was fifteen. They didn’t really do anything for him then, and weren’t really accomplishing anything now. But it helped him to have something to do; something he could control and focus on.

“Stiles,” his father’s voice was soothing, like he was talking to a child. “That man…I know you’re a man and a father yourself, but I just—I’m not good with words, you know that. But I just want to say…Son, I want you to be happy; I want the best for you. And that man out there, eight stitches above his left eye and wracked with exhaustion: that man wants the same thing. That man searched for over nine hours to find your son. He bruised and bloodied himself while searching through the burnt remains of the house where his entire family- or most of it- burned to death. He carried Scott through the goddamn preserve after he found him, limping and bleeding the whole way. And after getting stitched up, this man went out to get the twins and bring them here. He’s been out there, holding and comforting your kids, since Melissa discharged him.”

Stiles stared at his father. This was not where he thought the conversation was heading.

“Stiles, I know how much life has thrown at you. I know how many times you’ve been knocked down. And I know how strong you have had to be, to get up each time and keep going. But I think you need to let someone take care of you every now and again. You can’t be strong for everyone else all the time, son. Now I haven’t been able to be that person for you since you were 12 years old. But if there was ever a man for the job: it’d be the one outside that door.”

Stiles, mouth agape and eyes wide, nodded and sniffled. The Sheriff leaned down and hugged his son tightly, squeezing the back of his neck like he used to when Stiles was a kid.

“I know my ‘blessing’ or ‘approval’ isn’t really necessary, but you gotta know that you and Derek have it,” he smiled then and chuckled.

“On that note: why don’t you go take a break? Get some air and maybe something to eat,” his father squeezed his shoulder and took the coffee from his hands. “I’ll take up a shift on the bedside watch.”

Stiles could tell he was exhausted, but he was grateful for the offer. He nodded heavily and got up from the chair. He walked toward the door and took a last look at Scott, before walking out. Closing the door softly, he suddenly felt the weight of everything come crashing down on him. He fought to keep the tears and panic from overwhelming him, but he felt his resolve slipping. Sliding down the door, he dropped onto the floor with his legs outstretched.

“Daddy?” a small, soft voice cried out. Stiles dropped his hands away from his face and saw Isaac clinging onto Derek’s hand. He reached out and Isaac, flinging himself into Stiles. He wrapped his arms around him and stood, the panic attack subsiding. He walked towards Derek, who had a sleeping Erica was perched on his hip. Her tangled blonde head was curled under Derek’s chin and her tiny hands were clenched in his jacket. Derek looked just as worn down as he felt, but he had stayed with the twins anyway. The man deserved a Hero of the Year award.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his eyes meeting Derek’s over Isaac’s head.

Derek nodded and led him outside, hand in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you it was gonna be a rough one. I am so sorry. On the upside, there will be a break from drama and *intense* feelings for a little while- so you have time to heal and catch your breath. In response to some questions I've gotten on tumblr, I am hoping to wrap this up at around 10/12 chapters- so, we have a little ways to go before I put you all out of your misery ;)
> 
> Next update will be Wednesday, for sure this time. Spring break is here, so I have ample time to write.
> 
> As usual, please feel free to comment, share, offer up recommendations, etc...
> 
> Find me on tumblr.


	7. Where We Planted the Seeds, Part 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles have "me-time" and further their relationship.
> 
> Note: This chapter is in two parts, with the first being mostly fluff and the second being mostly smut.
> 
> Enjoy

_A month ago…_

 

Stiles was seriously considering shaving his head again. He had been standing in front of the mirror for twenty minutes, trying to fix the unruly mess of hair on his head. No amount of combing, gelling, wetting, or spit-slicking (hey desperate times, desperate measures- right?) that could mold the awkward mop that had grown on his head in the last couple of months. He let out a loud groan of frustration and then turned on the faucet, dunking his head in the stream of water. _I give up: I’m gonna look like a dork and I’m gonna deal with it._

“Daddy,” Erica knocked on the bathroom door, even though it was wide open. “I think your hair looks good all the days.”

Stiles toweled off his hair and grinned at his daughter, her own curls crowned her head like a tangled mane of gold. He wished he had her self-assuredness.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, boogerbean.”

“You’re welcome, Daddy,” she preened. “What’s a fote of conferdans?”

“It’s like giving someone a high-five or a pat on the back, but with words.”

Erica’s little chest puffed out with pride and she nodded her head once before stomping down the stairs. Stiles could hear her telling Derek about her achievement, “I gave Daddy a special fote of conferdanance.” _Oh my God. Derek. Who was still waiting downstairs._

Stiles threw on the first sweater in his closet and his nicest non-dad-looking jeans, still zipping them up as he scrambled down the stairs and into the den. Putting on his socks and cleanest pair of sneakers, he stumbled to a halt. Derek was sitting on the couch, Erica bouncing on his lap and Isaac molded into his side like a limpet. He was wearing a dark green button up and black jeans, tucked into the same boots and jacket he always wore. His face lit up in a huge smile, beaming at Erica as she enthusiastically relayed some story about the dead frog she found in the backyard. Stiles didn’t mind entering unnoticed; he would much rather watch the way Derek’s eyes never left Erica’s face and the way he was hanging on to every word she said. He liked the way Isaac fit into Derek’s side, Derek’s arm curled around his back and resting on the boy’s arm. It had been a while since the kids had latched onto anyone other than their father, but the twins- and even Scott- seemed to welcome Derek into their lives: like he belonged there.

 _And maybe he does_ , Stiles thought as Derek turned around and stood to kiss him hello. With everything that had happened in the few months they had known each other, Derek had managed to fit into the Stilinski family like a missing puzzle piece. The night of Scott’s hospitalization, Derek never left Stiles’ side other than to take the twins home for a bath or go get food. He had watched the twins, brought the Sheriff and Stiles food, and taken Stiles back to his house at five in the morning. Derek took a day off work and stayed with Stiles, offering words of comfort and a hand to hold. In the weeks since, Derek had been a fixture in the Stilinski house. He came by to visit and have dinner after work, a placemat marking his own place at the table. He picked up and dropped off Scott at school, even on the days he didn’t have Allison. Stiles couldn’t know how Derek’s self-imposed routine had slowly been replaced by the pleasant chaos that was being around the Stilinski brood, but he could see how Derek thrived by being a part of another family.

Stiles appreciated Derek more than he could ever put into words. He wished he could tell him how nice it felt to be part of a team again. He wanted to explain how having Derek over to help make dinner or go over Scott’s homework so Stiles could get work done helped soothe the icy clenching in his gut. Stiles wanted Derek to understand how grateful he was to Derek for jumping headfirst into his family, armed with fearlessness and an open heart. Stiles wanted to, but words weren’t enough. So he communicated in gentle touches in their quiet moments alone and soft kisses in the kitchen after dinner. For now, it was enough.

* * *

_Now…_

 

“Derek,” Stiles whined from the passenger seat, “where are we even _going_?”

Derek grinned, and pulled into his driveway. Turning off the engine, he reached over and snapped Stiles’ blindfold against his face. Stiles flailed against the snap of the elastic and shrieked. Even though his eyes were covered, Derek knew Stiles’ face well enough to see the glare through the black cotton. Derek suppressed a chuckle, instead rolling his eyes.

“C’mon.”

He got out of the car and rushed to cross in front of the Camaro, opening Stiles’ door and taking Stiles’ hand to lead him out and around to the side gate.

“Just so we’re clear: I’m _so_ not the chick in this relationship,” Stiles muttered, cheeks slightly pink in the dusty sunlight.

“Of course, not, milady,” Derek laughed and brought Stiles’ hand to his lips.

“Shut up and show me the surprise, you incorrigible brute.”

Despite the teasing in his tone, Derek was incredibly nervous. He had spent the last few days setting up his backyard for tonight. Derek and Stiles had been seeing each other for some time now, going on a few dates around town. Dinner and lunch, the occasional ice cream outing. But tonight was different; Derek wanted to set the tone for the rest of their relationship with tonight. He didn’t want easy or simple, or even perfect. He could’ve gone down the “dinner and a movie” route; he could’ve made his signature spicy spaghetti, set up a queue of rom-coms on Netflix, and cuddled with Stiles on the couch under his favorite blanket. In fact, Derek thought that sounded like something he could get used to. Tonight, however, Melissa and John (as the Sheriff now insisted Derek call him) had the twins and Scott was over at his friend Danny’s. Tonight, they were alone and Stiles had the night off. Tonight was theirs and Derek’s inner romantic wanted to woo his man. Laura’s words, but they rung true, nevertheless.

Derek led Stiles into the backyard, guiding him through the gate and into the grassy area where he had set up his surprise. He dropped Stiles’ hands and went to untie the blindfold.

“I’m untying this, but keep your eyes closed,” Derek’s hand lingered on Stiles temple, running his fingertips through the soft hair. Stiles nodded in response, leaning into the touch and letting out a contented sigh.

Derek stuffed the blindfold in his pocket and stepped away to turn on the lights. This morning, Derek had strung up Christmas lights all around the backyard. Around the posts of the verandah, in lines that stretched across the yard between the trees, and around the trunks of two huge oak trees in the center of the yard. Between the two trees, he had a hung a huge white sheet he’d found at Goodwill, stretched tight and softly billowing in the evening breeze. There was a projector sitting in the center of a small side table, surrounded by bowls of popcorn. Laura and Allison had come over to make a few different types of flavored popcorn, even though Derek would have been perfectly content with good old butter-flavored. Although the yard was beautiful and the popcorn was sure to impress Stiles, Derek’s favorite part of the surprise was still covered in a white canvas tarp.

“Open your eyes,” Derek called out from his place on the verandah.

* * *

 

 _Holy. Shit._ For once, Stiles was at a complete loss for words. Mouth agape, eyes feeling like they could pop pout of their sockets at any second, and legs feeling a little weak at the knees. Derek had done this for him. All of this, _for him._  

“No fucking way,” he breathed out in awe.

Derek’s backyard looked amazing; it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Finally regaining control of his legs, Stiles stumbled forward toward the two large maple trees in the center of the yard. Twinkling Christmas lights were twined around the trunks and some of the branches. The same lights were strung on clotheslines around the yard in low hanging arches, illuminating the enormous yard in a soft glow. It didn’t look real.

“Umm,” Derek walked down from the verandah, his hands in his pockets. “Do you like it?”

Stiles barely registered the question. He felt like he nodded his head, but he wasn’t too sure of any of his body’s movements at the moment. He sat down on the grass, eyes wide and gaping mouth covered by his steepled fingers.

“Jesus, is it too much? Laura said it was too much—”

Stiles whipped around to look at Derek. His eyes were darting around the backyard in a panick, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth pulled down at the corners into a severe frown. He looked like a cartoon. Stiles tried to muffle a snicker into his hands, but the grimace on Derek’s face showed he had caught it anyway.

“Derek,” Stiles flopped onto his back, and looked up at the man with a goofy smile. “You’re such a dork. And so corny. And this is perfect.”

Derek lit up, grimace slowly fading into a shy grin. Stiles warmed at the sight. _How could this all be for me?_ Slowly rising up into a sitting position, he took a few moments to commit the moment to memory. Then he noticed the gigantic lump sitting on the grass, covered by a white tarp.

“What the hell is that?”

Derek came over and reached out his hand, pulling Stiles back onto his feet. Leading him over to the tarp, he smiled at Stiles and took hold of the tarp with his free hand.

* * *

 

“Holy. Shit,” Stiles screeched happily. He failed out of Derek’s grasp, hands punching in to the air. _Yep. Totally worth it._  

Derek had spent weeks scouring junkyards and online for the body of a this car. After finally finding “the one”, a little worse for the wear, in a junkyard about 2 hours away- he bought it and spent another 2 weeks restoring the body. He wanted to paint it maroon, but time was of the essence and he did all he could under his self-imposed deadline.

“What is that?”

Stiles pointed at the body of the car, resting on a makeshift port Derek had rigged up. This was the part of the surprise he was most proud of; this car was his ode to Stiles. In the time they had spent together, Derek had soaked in all he could about Stiles. His quirks, his flaws, his tell when he lies. His dreams, fears, loves, dislikes: and everything else in between. But Derek reveled in knowing the most mundane things about Stiles. His favorite food (Thai- the spicier, the better), his favorite song (Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf”…seriously), and millions of Top 10 lists. But what surprised Derek, was Stiles’ love for movies. Stiles put on a show for Derek at first, inviting him over to watch 80’s B-movies and every monster movie known to man. But underneath the frantic, slightly neurotic monster-obsession, lay something more frightening altogether: Stiles loved cheesy musicals. With a passion. And his absolute favorite movie of all time was—

“Holy shit. This car,” Stiles yelped out, finally piecing it all together. “This is…Danny and Sandy’s. You found—you made…ohmygod.”

Stiles had gone over to the car, running his hands down the sides in reverence. Derek thought he could almost see him vibrate with his excitement. It was in this moment, he knew he was done for. It had only taken four months, but he was gone.

“It’s a 1949 Dodge Wayfarer Convertible,” Derek tried to drown out the breathlessness of his voice with car jargon. He knew cars. He could do this.

“Is that the same one? Like, in the movie?”

“Yeah. I had been looking for a while and I finally found one in a junkyard just outside of Redding. I had some extra time at the shop, so it wasn’t too-”

“You did this all for me? Because I love _Grease?_ ”

Stiles’ eyes were shining now, all warm liquid amber. Derek couldn’t look away. He stood a few feet from Stiles, whose hand was still resting on the side of the car.

“I just wanted to do something different.”

Stiles shook his head, face lit up in something like wonder. He walked towards Derek, hands fidgeting at his side. When he was standing in front of his, breath hitting Derek’s chin in warm clouds, he reached out and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck. Without a word, Derek leaned in to brush his lips over Stiles’. Stiles made soft whine in his throat, before relaxing into the kiss. Derek took in everything Stiles had to give, lips rough and warm. He ran his tongue along Stiles’ lower lip, before opening his mouth to take the lip in between his teeth. He softly bit it, pulling back form the kiss with it between his teeth. He released it, flicking his eyes up to Stiles’. The corners crinkled as Stiles smiled softly.

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered as their lips brushed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, you guys. My life has been crazy/shitty for the last few weeks, so writing has been sparse and stalled. It's finally here and part two will be up as well. This is all fluff because the guys deserved it, and I think we all needed a break from sad happenings. Don't worry, though: drama and heartbreak will resume soon. Something wicked this way comes, my friends.
> 
> As for the title name? Pun intended (I'm a terrible person and a horrible adult).
> 
> As usual, this is unbeta'd. Any and all erros are my own. Feel free to comment with any suggestions, I always wanna hear what you guys want to see happen. Any questions, concerns, recommendations are welcome here or on tumblr.


	8. Where We Planted the Seeds, Part 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles have "me-time" and further their relationship, part two. Derek tells Stiles about his past. The two realize their feelings are deeper than they thought.
> 
> (Smutty second parts are the best, right?)
> 
> Note: This "chapter" is in two parts, with the first being mostly fluff and the second being mostly smut.

_Tell him._

They were in the car, watching the _Grease_ credits play on the makeshift screen. Stiles had his arm around Derek, fingers stained orange from the cheese popcorn. The non-cheesy hand was holding his, fingers entwined, and he hummed happily as he traced the veins on the back of Derek’s hand. Derek grimaced; he was going to hate himself for ruining the moment, but the words were already climbing up his throat. If he didn’t say anything now, he never would

“Stiles,” he started, throat rough with emotion. “Can we talk?”

Stiles tensed around Derek, face turning to look at him and eyebrows rising in question.

“There are some things I want to tell you, now. I haven’t really talked about them with anyone, but I just—I want you to know. So just, bear with me.”

Stiles repositioned himself around Derek, straightening up so they could look at each other. Derek’s eyes remained on the screen, now playing the DVD’s menu on a loop. It was easier if he could pretend he was saying it aloud to an empty yard.

“When I was in high school, I was in this really awkward stage. My younger brother, James, was the brilliant one. Laura was the beautiful one. My oldest brother, Leigh, was the funny one and the star athlete. And then my parents had my youngest sister, Maya. So she was the baby. I was just the middle kid. I was just Derek. And I had no idea how to fit into my family; it always felt like I was walking around trying to fit in someone else’s skin. My parents were great and they loved me, but they couldn’t really see what was wrong with me. I never told anyone about it.”

“I didn’t know you had other siblings,” Stiles interjected quietly, obviously trying to stifle his curiosity.

“You wouldn’t remember them. You would’ve been nine years old when I was in high school. By the time you were a freshman, we were already…well, Laura and I were already out of high school.”

Derek winced at the words. He hadn’t spoken about his family in years. But it was time. He paused, trying to collect his thoughts.

“When I was fifteen, I met this girl. She was older, around Leigh’s age. She was funny, hot, smart. Dangerous. She was everything I shouldn’t have wanted and could never have. Her name was Kate. And I fell in love with her.”

Stiles tensed further, drawing his arm away from Derek. He turned in the seat, fully facing Derek who remained in the seat. His eyes stared straight ahead, feeling like his eyes could burn holes in the sheet and fearing if he so much as glanced at Stiles he would break. 

“We started dating, or at least I thought it was dating back then. I would sneak out of the house to meet her. She would bring pot and we’d smoke in her car. Eventually, we slept together. For months, she led me on. Let me think I had to prove myself to her. I don’t know why she did it; don’t really know what she got out of it. It couldn’t really have been about the sex, because she was beautiful. She could’ve had anyone she wanted. I was terrible. She was my first and I had no idea what I was doing. But I remember just feeling so unbelievably…lucky. I felt like I was special, for once. Like she _chose_ me and I was _lucky_ to have her. I loved her and she convinced me she loved me back.”

“Derek, you don’t have to—”

“And then things…things turned to shit. Laura and I were at her boyfriend’s swim meet; I remember I had detention that day so she had to drive me. We were halfway up the road to the preserve when we saw the smoke. We pulled up and the house—it looked like it had been swallowed up by fire and smoke. It didn’t even look real. But I could feel the heat; it was like stepping into a hurricane of flames. The fire department was already there, trying to salvage what they could. Someone got my uncle Peter and my brother, James, out; they were airlifted to the hospital. I remember Laura pulling me back and then running away from her and the house. I ran all the way to Kate’s apartment. She left me a fucking note; a snarky farewell taped to a book of matches, her lipstick smeared in a kiss at the bottom.”

Stiles was shaking beside him. Derek couldn’t look at him, couldn’t even bear to touch him. His fists were clenched, but his eyes were wide open- staring down at the grass. Derek remembered the red of the lipstick, staining his hands as he read Kate’s note over and over again. When he finally made it to the hospital, Laura had run to him- hysterical and inconsolable. He had stood there, quiet and still, feeling empty. The lipstick smeared onto Laura’s sweater as he patted her back. James had died during the transport, while Peter had third degree burns on eighty percent of his body and was in a medicine-induced coma. _Two and a half Hales_ , he remembered thinking to himself. _We’re all that’s left_.

“She used me to get to my family. My family had a lot of money and a lot of respect in this town. A couple years before I was born, there was some kind of political showdown between my dad and Kate’s father, Gerard. Some kind of political scandal; Gerard was involved in something shady, I never found out the specifics. But when it all came out, he was totally disgraced- he had to step down from the town council, lost his job, and lost everyone’s respect. When I was a kid, I remember everyone talking about Gerard. Town drunk, totally shameless. He drank himself to death, eventually. The Argents ended up losing their house and moved away. Kate came back. She told me she came back for me, for a second chance. But she came back for revenge; her family lost her home, so she took mine. The Argents lost everything, so she did what she could to destroy the Hales.”

* * *

 

Stiles was as far away from Derek as he could be while still sitting in the car. As much as he wanted to curl up and wrap his arms around him, Stiles knew to give the man his space. He was trembling and openly crying now, while Derek remained completely still. His face was frozen in a mask of fury; his teeth clenched so hard Stiles thought they could break. Stiles felt if he reached out to touch him, Derek would shatter into a million pieces. How was he even supposed to react to what Derek had just told him? He remembered the fire; he remembered the exact day it happened. He had come home to his mother crying, scooping him up in a hug and holding him while she cried. He had cried too, not really knowing why- but feeling his mother’s pain. She had petted his hair and clenched him tightly to her chest, whispering, “ _I love you, kochanie”_ into his cheeks. It was seared into his memory.

“I remember hearing about the fire. I knew a little bit about it, from what my dad told me. My mom worked at the hospital, but she never really talked to me about it. I never put two and two together. Fucking hell, Derek. I don’t…what can I say? What can I do? Please. I want to help you.”

Derek shook his head, as if trying escape from Stiles’ words. Stiles looked on helplessly, feeling more lost with every second of silence that passed. He finally reached to Derek, relief washing through him when Derek made no move to back away. After a few more moments, Stiles crawled over and straddled Derek’s lap. Taking his face into his hands, he kissed him softly on the mouth. He moved slowly, gently and placed another kiss on Derek’s chin. Words couldn’t convey everything Stiles was feeling, so he showed Derek instead. He placed more kisses on Derek’s closed eyelids, the pained furrows on his forehead, both stubble-rough cheeks, his nose, and along his jaw. All the while, he cradled Derek’s face. Stiles scrunched his eyes shut, hoping to bleed private assertions into each kiss: _I’m here. You’re okay. I’ve got you._ Derek relaxed, eventually, in Stiles’ hold. Reaching around to cup the back of his neck, Stiles tipped Derek’s head back and kissed him again. For all of the gentle sweetness of the first kiss, this kiss was all heat. Licking into his mouth, Stiles settled into Derek’s lap. 

Derek let out a broken-sounding moan before reaching up to clutch Stiles closer to his chest. Rocking up to meet Stiles’ hips, Derek took control of the kiss. Stiles’ breath stuttered out in a sharp gasp, lips breaking from Derek’s for only a moment before rushing forward to seal their mouths again. Careful not to bang their heads against the seat, Derek awkwardly maneuvered them into the back of the car. Laying Stiles down on his back, Derek knelt between his open legs and ran his hands down Stiles’ chest. Blunt fingernails left red lines down the soft, smooth skin. Stiles wanted them to burn into his skin and never fade away, a constant reminder of Derek’s touch.

“Shirt. Off,” Stiles breathed out in an excited wheeze. Derek raised an eyebrow before getting up on his knees to slide his shirt off and throw it somewhere on the ground. _Yeah, there’s no way I’m keeping my cool right now._

“Thank God this is a convertible, am I right?” Stiles’ voice cracked as Derek pressed hungry, wet kisses along Stiles’ happy trail.

Stiles whined at the press of soft lips on his hips. He giggled as Derek palmed him through his pants. Apparently, Stiles was a teenager again. But once it was decided there was no use in being embarrassed, he figured he might as well commit to being as loud as possible. Running his hands up Stiles’ sides, Derek slid Stiles’ sweater up off his head and off his arms. The sweater joined Derek’s shirt, somewhere in the yard. Stiles took a moment to take in the sight of a shirtless Derek leaning down on him.

“Fuck. You’re ridiculous,” he whispered reverently, trailing his hand down Derek’s chest. He had meant to say _beautiful_. “I don’t know what I did in a past life to rack up this many karma points, but— _holy hell_ …” 

 _Hands on your junk. There are wonderful, rough, hot hands on your junk._ Pulling his hands out of Stiles’ pants and smiling, Derek leaned in ( _painfully_ _slow_ if Stiles might add) to nip at one of Stiles’ nipples. _Sweet merciful mother of Gandhi._ He could feel his cock straining against his pants now, none too subtly. If Derek didn’t get his pants off in the next three minutes, Stiles was going to explode. He didn’t have much to worry about, considering the way Derek was rutting against his hip. Before he could pull back from Derek’s mouth, Derek had his hands on his zipper. It soothed a tiny part of the raging tornado in Stiles’ gut to know that the Adonis-look-alike above him was just as frantic as he was to get naked. After a few fumbling attempts to slip the jeans down his legs and over his still tied-shoes, Derek leaned back and tore off Stiles’ sneakers with a growl- his pants soon following. Stiles barely had time to chuckle before Derek was sliding down his own pants. He looked like a fucking underwear ad: a living, breathing Calvin Klein spread. Who was sporting a serious boner. _Christ._  

Stiles fell back, spreading his legs as he looked up through his eyelashes at Derek. There was no room to care about the wanton picture he was sure he made, swollen red lips slick with spit and legs splayed open in his eagerness. Letting out a wonderful-sounding groan, Derek leaned forward to kiss deeply into Stiles’ mouth. Tongues crashing, lips sliding, teeth biting: it was everything Stiles could ever want in a kiss. Derek’s hand slid from Stiles’ face to his waist, soon falling to rest on his hip to knead into the skin. Stiles bucked up into Derek’s touch, back arching and arms falling around Derek’s neck. Stiles held onto Derek like a lifeline, lost in frantic touches and the clashes of their mouths. Stiles moaned when Derek _finally_ slipped his hand down the front of his boxers again, hand firmly palming his hard cock. Lifting his hips up, Stiles managed to ruck his boxers down around his knees while Derek reached down and slid off his own briefs. Grunting out in frustration and rearing back, Derek ripped Stiles’ boxers off his knees- with an audible sound of material giving up under Derek’s hands- and threw them outside the car. Stiles took a minute to openly ogle the man on his knees in front of him. There was no way he was real, or human at the least. People just didn’t look like that in real life. Stiles had self-confidence, sure, but in the face of the fucking Da Vinci sculpture in front of him—

“How do you even…I mean, you’re _stupid_ pretty,” Stiles breathed out, face crumpled half in a scowl and half in a mask of disbelief. _Oh my God, Stiles. Mind-to-mouth filter malfunction. Really?_

Derek chuckled and climbed back up Stiles body, kissing up his torso and maintaining eye contact. 

“Well, coming from the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen: I’ll take that as a compliment.”

There was no room for teasing in Derek’s reply. Stiles, despite the furious blush spreading across his face, couldn’t look away. His skin was on fire and he never wanted to put it out; he wanted to burn with Derek until he couldn’t tell where he ended and Derek began. He had always laughed when people spoke of love as a burning fire in movie or the paperback romances he picked up at the gas station (as a single dad, he was allowed certain simple pleasures)- but he got it, now. Maybe he was too afraid to say it out loud, but he knew it now. He understood why people described it as such. He had never felt this with anyone; not with Hailey or with Danny. He felt it now and he wasn’t going to let go any time soon.

* * *

 

Grinding down on Stiles’ hips, Derek lifted his head so he could see Stiles’ face. Eyes closed and head tipped back, Stiles let out a wrecked sounding moan. The lovely flush Derek adored had trickled down to his chest now, turning the ivory skin a soft pink. Sweat was beading down the man’s neck and Derek leaned down on impulse to lick after the trail a stray drop made, up from sternum to jaw. It was worth it to hear the cracked whimper escape from Stiles’ mouth. He needed to hear that sound again. Hell, he wanted to make the sound his ringtone.

“D-do you have anything? Like with you?” Stiles asks, confidence warring with embarrassment. Derek muttered out a curse and moved back toward the front seat, looking for his pants. Finally finding them outside, he opened the door and hastily emptied his pockets. He was crawling back into the backseat before the packet of lube and the foil condom packet had even plopped into his palm.

“I’m not even going to pretend I’m offended by your assumptions,” Stiles muttered out airily.

“I didn’t assume, I just wanted to be prepared,” Derek replied, ripping open the lube packet and warming it on his fingers.

“Always be prepared? I’m getting really great mental images of you in a boy scout uniform. Those long athletic socks and khaki short-shorts would do wonders for your legs,” Stiles rambled, cheeks flushed and eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Less talking more doing,” Derek grumbled, kneeling down on the seat once more. Stiles broke off in a whine, reaching out with grabby hands. Pulling Derek back onto himself, he smiled and arched up into the man’s touch.

Derek slid his hand down Stiles’ side and around his hip. Reaching the curve of his ass, he slowly reached down and traced the cleft. Stiles gasped shakily and lifted his hips in an attempt to accommodate Derek’s fingers. With one hand, Derek pulled a cheek to the side to reach the tight ring of muscle. He circled his finger around the pucker, barely pushing inward, teasing. Stiles grunted in aggravation, rolling his eyes.

“C’mon, boy scout. Ravish me.”

Derek raised an eyebrow before pulling Stiles up and into his lap, positioning them so Stiles was straddling his legs. Without letting up on his hold, he pushed a single finger inside. The accompanying shudder and sharp intake of breath spurned him forward as he reached up with a free hand to cup the back of Stiles’ head. Slipping the finger in and out of Stiles slowly and firmly, Derek managed to roll his hips again. His cock slipped up and leaked precome on the white, sweat-slick expanse below Stiles’ bellybutton. Wide, brown eyes flashed open suddenly: pupils dilated, iris just a thin ring of bright amber. Stiles reached up with the hand that wasn’t clutching Derek’s forearm, pumping his finger inside him, to spit in his hand. Derek bit his lip. _Fuck. That was just as hot in person as it was in my head._  

Taking both of their dicks in his hand, Stiles pumped them in time with Derek’s motions. Derek slid his finger out of Stiles and pushed back in with two. Stiles hand stuttered for a moment, before starting up again with more pressure and friction. Derek angled his hips up, desperate for more: he wasn’t going to last. Rutting up against Stiles, Derek pushed in a third finger. Stiles cried out, pushing up on his knees to take control. He fucked himself on Derek’s fingers, hips circling as he moved. Derek moaned, thinking of how Stiles would look fucking down onto his cock. He crooked his fingers searching for the spot inside Stiles that would make him whimper again. Stiles crumpled forward suddenly, and Derek moved his fingers again and again- adding smaller amounts of pressure into the spot where he could rub against Stiles’ prostate.

“Fuck,” Stiles whispered, the word turning into a moan. “Derek, now. Now, now, now. _Now.”_

Derek slid his fingers out, the wet sound obscene in the silence of the backyard. Placing his hands on the bony hips in his lap, he moved Stiles up. Stiles placed one hand on Derek’s shoulder and another on Derek’s cock, now dripping wet and unbearably hard. Tilting his hips forward, he guided Derek to his ass and inside him. For all of his self-control, it was all he could do to keep from coming in that instant. He tightened his hands on Stiles’ hips, keeping just the tip inside of Stiles. He needed a moment to compose himself. Stiles reached up and placed a hand on Derek’s cheek, thumb brushing the smoothness of his lower lip. Derek flicked out his tongue, licking the pad of the finger then sucking it into his mouth. Stiles jerked back in surprise, seating himself fully on Derek’s dick and eliciting another round of sharp groans from both of them.

“Holy horeshit, Batman,” Stiles responded, voice barely above a whisper. “We moved right past hand jobs. No blowies either. We forgot all the jobs. Derek, I’m _unemployed—”_

“Stiles, do you really want to stop now so I can blow you?” Derek pulled off of his thumb with a dirty-sounding pop.

Stiles replied with a testing undulation of his hips, rising up on his knees until Derek was barely inside him again. Glancing down at Derek, Stiles smirked and dropped down into his lap again. Derek growled and surged upwards, crashing his mouth onto Stiles’.

Crickets chirped and the leaves rustled, a stark contrast to the desperate noises of their fucking. Stiles ground down onto Derek, frantically scrabbling at his arms and back with every movement. There were going to be welts and scabs in the morning, but Derek couldn’t bring himself to care. The world could have exploded and he wouldn’t have noticed: all that mattered were the beautiful sounding moans and “ahs” Stiles choked out and the feel of those fingers on his skin. The sex was spectacular, but the intimacy was something entirely different. Derek had never felt this close to a person in his life; it felt as though with every breath, he was inhaling Stiles. Melting into him with every crash of their hips. The scars of his past soothed over with every drop of sweat that fell off Stiles’ skin and every welt Stiles’ fingers dug into his own skin. This was something new and precious. The world around spun faster as he approached his orgasm, hips losing rhythm and teeth biting into Stiles neck.

He came with a shout, body tensing and back bucking into the body he clung to. He kept moving, needing to feel Stiles’ release. He bucked up with a newfound surge of energy, pushing Stiles into the door. He maneuvered Stiles’ legs around his waist, taking their combined weight on his knees. Frantically fucking into him, he kept his face in the crook of his neck. Stiles dug his feet into his ass and wrapped a hand into his hair. With a cry, he came between them, liquid warmth spurting onto Derek’s stomach. He gently rode into him a few more times, fucking Stiles down from his high. When he heard the whimpering n his ear, he came to halt and gingerly moved onto his back. Stiles followed, falling into a heap on his chest.

Both of them refrained from blurting out the words that burned on their tongues, not wanting to ruin the afterglow with passionate declarations. The words were unneeded for now. In this moment, soft caresses and the rise and fall of their chests were the only confessions that needed uttering. The rest could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter ended up being late because I was in the hospital and then I got into the college I needed to. But, I'm back to normal...for now. This is all smut because the guys deserved to get laid. And we like reading smut. Don't worry, though: drama and heartbreak will resume soon. Something wicked this way comes, my friends.
> 
> As for the title name? Pun intended (I'm a terrible person and a horrible adult).
> 
> As usual, this is unbeta'd. Any and all erros are my own. Feel free to comment with any suggestions, I always wanna hear what you guys want to see happen. Any questions, concerns, recommendations are welcome here or on tumblr.


	9. To Leave and Turn to Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to an embarrassingly hesitant start, Derek decides what to do for Christmas. Finally (with Laura's help) Derek plans the perfect Christmas for himself, his sister, and the Stilinski brood.
> 
> Everything goes perfectly- until it doesn't.

“So is Stiles coming over for Christmas?” 

Derek choked on his mouthful of pretzels his character immediately dying onscreen. He flashed a glare over at his niece. She had purposely caught him off guard, asking him _again_ for the hundredth time this week. Laura had already been on his case, but- apparently- Allison had turned traitor as well. She shrugged in response and continued kicking his ass, killing more Majini than he ever could on a good day.

“I don’t know,” he muttered in reply, a blush now reddening his ears. Derek growled before re-committing to the battle on the screen with a renewed fervor. Resident Evil was supposed to be _his_ game, nieces and overly aggressive sisters be damned.

In truth, Derek _did_ know. He knew Stiles had been dropping hints for weeks now. He knew the Sheriff and Melissa were going out of town to visit her family somewhere in Southern California. He knew Stiles and the kids were invited to go along; he knew Stiles had turned down the Sheriff in favor of staying in Beacon Hills for the holidays. He knew Stiles had hopes of being invited to _another_ family Christmas. That family being _Derek’s_ family.

“Bear,” Allison whines, more than just a hint of condescension in her tone. _Since when did 13 year olds condescend down to adults?_ “You haven’t asked him yet?”

_Oh._

“I just haven’t found the right time,” he grunted, whole body tilting sideways as he desperately tried to mash the buttons on the controller. _Oh shit, where did those come from_? Dodging an attack, he managed to kill one more before being taken down himself. This was the third time he had died in less than half an hour. He was distracted.

“I was in critical health! You didn’t even try to resuscitate me!”

It was a very obvious attempt to distract Allison from the subject. Derek knew she was smart enough not to take the bait.

“Bear, you have to ask him. Scott told me he already bought your present. And he’s starting to think you don’t want him to come over.”

Her big, brown eyes and pout were starting to melt him again. Derek let out a deep sigh as she climbed onto the couch next to him. Slinging his arm around her, he softly knocked his head against hers.

“I want him to come,” he spoke quietly, afraid of letting her know just how much he wanted Stiles there for Christmas. Christmas had always been his favorite holiday, but for years there had only been three spots at his table. Despite all he felt for the man, Derek was still afraid. Of what it would mean for their relationship. Of fucking everything up. _Of change,_ a small voice whispered in the back of his mind.

“I know,” Allison knocked her head back against Derek’s. “He should know, too.”

“I’m the grown-up, you know. I’m supposed to be helping _you_ with boy problems.”

Taking his face between her hands, she smashed his cheeks together. Derek batted her hands away, trying to fight a wide smile. He frowned at her instead.

“I haven’t been scared of your eyebrows since I was, like, four,” she preened, already starting up another game.

* * *

 

Logically, Derek knew he had nothing to feel nervous about. Stiles wanted to come over. The kids wanted to come over, Scott included. Everyone liked everyone. And yet, his palms were sweating and he couldn’t find the words he wanted to say. Having the Stilinskis over at Christmas felt so real: it felt like he was building a family again.

Walking up to the porch, he took out his key and made his way into the Stilinski house. The fact he had his own key to the house should’ve been reason enough to calm down. They had been dating for five months now and both were on board with the “monogamous commitment” idea. They both agreed to take things seriously and try to make it all work. “Whenever kids were involved, you gotta be in it for the long haul,” Stiles had mused. Derek felt the same.

“In here, babe,” Stiles called out from the downstairs office as soon as he walked in the door. The twins were quieted down, so Derek figured it was ‘school time’ in the Stilinski house.

Derek walked over to the room, leaving his shoes and jacket on his chair in the kitchen. _His chair_. It was nice to have his own little niche in the house.

“Hey, baby,” Stiles cooed, looking up at Derek from his place on the floor. Derek knelt down and kissed him on the forehead. He always liked seeing Stiles in “teacher-mode”; there was no one better suited for the job than Stiles and it was a wonderful thing to watch. The twins were furiously scribbling on paper, tracing dotted letters and copying words in blanks.

“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Stilinski?” Derek mused quietly, pressing more soft kisses into Stiles’ temple.

“You already did,” Erica stated without looking up from her paper.

Stiles shushed her before settling back against Derek, nodding for him to proceed.

“So, I was wondering if you, umm, wanted to come over? For the holidays? The, uh, Christmas ones?” Derek’s voice was higher than normal, nervousness clamping his throat around each word.

“I think that was three questions,” Isaac stage-whispered to his sister, holding up three marker-stained fingers.

Stiles chuckled before turning around to face Derek. The smile on his face was Derek’s favorite thing to look at, the skin around his eyes crinkling at the corners and the bow of Stiles’ mouth curved perfectly.

“Took you long enough,” Stiles whispered with a wink. But Derek could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“I wanted to ask sooner, but I didn’t know how? At first I didn’t know if you’d even want to come over. I thought maybe you had plans or something. Then I was just…nervous,” he muttered, embarrassment clear in his hesitation.

“Didn’t you know I would say yes?” Stiles raised an eyebrow.

When Derek didn’t answer, Stiles stood up and took his hand- leading him out of the “classroom”. Stiles led him to the sofa in the living room, dropping him down on it before climbing into his lap.

“Derek,” it sounded like a reprimand, “There’s no place I’d rather be. I don’t know what you think, but I want to be there. And I feel nervous about all this too. But I lo-I like this. I like us. And I hope you want this as much as I do.”

Derek ran his fingers along Stiles’ back, fingers tracing along his spine. He nodded in response, not trusting his words. Stiles relaxed into his hold, twisting back to place a soft kiss on his lips. Before Derek could deepen the kiss, one of the twins climbed over the back of the couch and flipped onto his shoulder, earning a grunt from both men. Derek opened an eye and saw a wild mane of curls bouncing as the little body made sure to hit every major organ in his abdominal cavity as she settled into his lap.

“Bear,” she screeched, having conned the nickname from Allison a few weeks ago, “I want a dinosaur for Christmas!”

* * *

 

“So, this one? Or the green one?” Derek held up two sweaters, completely out of his element in the upscale boutique. Laura was _clearly_ enjoying his inability to make a choice on anyone’s gift. 

“Hmmm. Yeah, neither,” Laura checked her newly manicured nails, a gift from her doting baby brother. It was actually more of a bribe. Derek had hoped with the right incentives, Laura might have been willing to help with his shopping. i.e.: do it for him.

“Laura, I have no idea what I’m doing,” he growled. He was on the precipice of exploding. _5, 4, 3, 2…_

“Okay, hon. I gotta ask: why are we here?” her hand was on her hip, her newly waxed eyebrows were dangerously arched in question.

“Because I need to shop for Stiles.”

“No, not—I meant _this_ store. Do you think he _really_ needs another sweater? You’re playing it safe. You have to think outside of the box.”

Derek’s face slipped into a mask of horror.

“Oh my god, Derek,” she sounded as exasperated as humanly possible. “Put down the cashmere and follow me.”

Leading him out of the boutique, Laura briskly walked to the car. Derek kept quiet, although a hundred questions were bouncing around in his head. As they drove away from the shopping center, he began to recognize their surroundings.

“We’re going back to the garage?”

“Shut up. Just trust me.”

Pulling into the garage lot, Laura out the Camaro in park and took the keys out of the ignition. She made no move to get out of the car, remaining in her seat and chewing her lip as she stared ahead blankly.    

“Quick question: do you still have any of the parts you took out of Stiles’ jeep when you first fixed it?”

“Maybe? There could be some pieces in the junk pile over there. Laura, you’ve lost me. What does that have to do with anything?”

Laura strode over to the aforementioned junk pile behind the garage, Derek in tow. He thought he recognized a few pieces here and there, pointing them out to Laura as he saw them. But it was so long ago, he couldn’t be sure.

“Wait, hold on a second,” Derek knelt on the ground, hands black with grease and oil as he picked through the scrap. “This was the old ignition in the Jeep.”

The clunky metal rectangle was rather worse for the wear. It had once been red, now rusted and a dull brick color. Derek could tell Stiles or the Sheriff had tried their best to fix things up under the hood, the part wasn’t as old as the car and the make was a fairly expensive brand. Derek had saved it to see if he could maybe salvage it and sell it.

“What’s MSD? Morons: Stiles & Derek?” Laura wrinkled her nose in faux confusion, a look Allison could copy perfectly.

“It’s the brand,” Derek answered curtly, but he was already lost in thought.

He picked up the part and buffed it against the front of his shirt. Walking back into the garage, he paused at his working station and set the ignition on his workbench. He fumbled around under the built-in desk for his blowtorch and solder. Laura’s eyes widened comically.

“Derek, my sweet angel, _what the fuck_ are you doing?”

“What you inspired me to do, dear.”

Throwing the mask on his head and glaring at Laura until she took a few steps back, Derek set about his work.

After a few minutes, Laura’s nervous fidgeting was wearing him down. He paused, turning off the torch and threw his mask off. He stared at her, an eyebrow raised, until she stopped moving and dug her hands into her pockets. Somehow. Those jeans were tighter than a second skin. He really hated those jeans.

“Well, Derek, if you insist. I was just wondering, now that we’re here and you’re feeling all tingly, you know I was…I was wondering i—”

“Sure.”

“I didn’t get to ask anything yet.”

“Boyd can come over for Christmas.”

Derek turned on the blowtorch and slipped the mask back on, eyes searching Laura’s. She smiled shyly at him, a rare occurrence, before nodding her head. Derek nodded in return and resumed working. There were times he was glad for the sibling-telepathy he and Laura had managed to work out when they were kids.

* * *

 

“What?” Stiles was looking at the small box in his hands with more than a touch of skepticism. Shaking it gently, the contents rattled softly inside. 

“Just open it,” Derek sighed, feigning frustration.

The twins were currently cuddling with their enormous stuffed animals on the sofa, Erica with her green T-Rex and Isaac with his orange lion. Scott was pretending to be disinterested in his box from Derek, but his surprise and eagerness were bubbling to the surface. Allison had already given him a bag of movies and Laura had gifted him with a skateboard she had custom made online. Showoffs.

Stiles carefully tore into the tissue paper, folding it back piece by piece. Unlike the previous boxes and parcels (the carnaged remains of which lay just by his feet), he took his time and Derek could feel his nervousness increase with every second. Stiles snickered and gently set aside the wrapping paper. Derek was reconsidering his taste in men.

“Oh,” Stiles breathed in sharply. “It’s…our initials? What’s the ‘M’ for?”

Derek flushed a furious shade of crimson.

“It’s from the ignition…er, the old one. From the Jeep,” Derek tried to explain, but all the words jumbled lamely on his tongue. Laura smiled pleasantly from her seat in Boyd’s lap, while Boyd struggled to keep the smirk off his face.

“The Jeep? This isfrom _months_ ago?”

Stiles mouth was agape in a perfect “O”.

"Did you make me…a paperweight?"

Stiles held the red block gingerly, as if he could break it if he breathed on it directly.

"You’re not going to break it: it’s metal. Push the middle down," Derek's nerves continued building as Stiles turned over the metal block in his hands.

Stiles cautiously pushed down on the spot where the letters lay inside the circle until the soldered section of the S and D slid out. The letters popped out neatly, leaving a hole in the middle where a little metal ring popped out from inside the hollow block. Stiles shook it free and looped the ring and attached chain over a slender finger.

"Umm," he seemed at a loss for words, "It's a ring?"

Scott perked up in his seat, his face carefully blank. Allison's arm was clenched on his sleeve, her eyebrows arched highly on her face and her mouth flitting between an ecstatic grin and a carefully controlled straight line. Laura looked over the moon, obviously content with herself for her influence on Derek's gift choice. Everyone seemed to be waiting on the edge of their seats for what Derek would say next.

"The red box thing is, uh, old. From old parts in the Jeep. I made it into a—and the ring I made too," Derek explained lamely. He tried to stress the "homemade factor" (Laura's words) and his own earnestness. He needed Stiles to understand; words were not coming easily to him now.

"You _made_ me a _ring_? Out of old parts _from my car_?"

 _Well, shit._ It sounded a lot creepier when Stiles said it like that. Maybe it was the _emphasis_ he put _on_ every _other_ word _he_ said.

"Hey kids, I think Mr. Boyd brought some of his mom's famous peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies," Laura was trying to usher Allison and Scott into the kitchen, while Boyd swung the twins up into his arms.

"Let's go destroy that big ol' pile, yeah?" Boyd enthusiastically roared out, with the twins screaming shrilly in response.

"I don't like peanut butter," Scott made no move to leave the living room. He was staring down Derek with a glare that managed to look both furious and terrified.

"Scott, now," Stiles squeaked out, all attempts at sounding authoritative flying out the window. “ _Please_.”

Scott harrumphed and moped out the room, but not before casting a venomous glance at Derek.

* * *

 

"Okay, first off," Stiles managed to gasp out between frantic kisses, "I'm gonna have to return that Hitchcock box set I got you."

Derek smiled into Stiles' lips.

"I'm serio-- oh my God," Stiles’ reprimand was cut off by a warm, rough hand running up his back under his shirt.

"Secondly," he whined out as Derek's nails lightly scratched back down along his spine, "You are the cheesiest, girliest, cutest hopeless romantic. Ever."

Derek paused and took a moment to look up at him. Stiles was pleased with his work: Derek’s lips were red and a bit swollen from where Stiles had worried at them between his teeth. Stiles smirked as he surveyed the damage with satisfaction. The truth was- if Stiles could bring himself to admit it- Derek's gift was perfect. He knew what it meant to him. Hell, it meant something to himself too.

"You know, I get it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. If my car hadn't broken down, I never would've needed to go to the garage. If I never would've needed to go to the garage, you never would’ve met me or wandered into this fabulous life of mine. And then you wouldn't have fallen so desperately in love with me."

Derek's soft smile faltered a little and Stiles frowned. _Oh, come on. We are so past the “L-word-induced-panic” stage,_ he mused. He knew Derek had issues with saying, "I love you." Despite the mind-blowing sex and the intimacy of their conversations, neither of them had actually said _those_ words. Derek said it in the way he looked at Stiles in the morning. In the way his hands trailed across his arms, like handling something precious. He said it in the way he tucked Isaac in on the nights Stiles was working under a deadline, his hands pushing soft curls away from his face. In the way he swung Erica up onto his shoulders, like she belonged there. He said it in the way he talked to Scott when he thought no one else was around, with goofy stories and a comforting hand on his shoulder. He said it enough in his own way; he said it enough that Stiles knew it was true.

He smiled encouragingly at Derek, brushing his nose with his own. Eskimo misses fixed everything.

"And then right now I'd be sitting in a cabin somewhere on a lake while my dad and stepmom made out or something."

Stiles warmed at the gruff “humph” Derek breathed out as he cuddled back into Derek's side. He smiled and laughed at the sound of Boyd’s monster noises booming from the kitchen.

* * *

 

Taking a break from exploring, they had all wandered in for more cookies and hot chocolate when there was a knock at the door. Derek raised an eyebrow, a curious glance at Laura as she and Boyd scurried around trying to hustle the twins, Allison, and Scott back out the door and into the backyard. She shrugged before zipping her jacket and blowing him a kiss. Stiles mirrored her shrug and tore off his boots, flopping back onto the couch.

"Well, don't everyone get up at once," Derek mumbled as he got off the sofa.

His confusion deepened when he opened the door to reveal a beautiful, petite woman with red hair. As far as he knew, no one had invited her over.

"Whoa, hello beefcake," she crooned in a tinny voice. Throwing her hair back over one shoulder and grinning toothily, she looked him up and down as she crossed her arms.

"Umm," Derek replied intelligently.

"Hmm, I'm looking for Stiles. His dad said he'd be here," she supplied, continuing to eye Derek with a rather predator-like stare.

Derek immediately tensed. All thoughts running through descriptions Stiles had given him of his ex-wife. _And on Christmas. Of course,_ he panicked internally. There was no way he could deal with this today.

"Lyds?" Stiles came stumbling in from the living room.

Derek relaxed at the sound of the woman's name. _Not Hailey._

"Merry Christmas, darling," she preened dramatically, complete with pouted lips as Stiles stared at her. Stiles’ feet finally stumbled into motion as he surged forward to swing her into a hug. Her heel-clad feet swung in the air as Stiles wrapped her in a tight embrace.

"Oh my God, Lydia" he rasped, "How’d you even know I'd be here?"

"Your dad. I called yesterday. I wanted to bring you your Christmas present, all the way from beautiful Los Angeles."

Just as Derek was starting to relax enough to ask the woman- _Lydia?_ \- to come in, a second woman came into view from the side of the porch. Long, curly honey-blonde hair and tan skin. She had dark blue eyes and a breathtaking smile. Derek immediately knew who she was, recognizing her from stories he’d been told and his own dreamed-up nightmares.

"Hey, baby," she called out, raspy voice full of a strong self-assuredness and a saccharine sweetness.

"No," Stiles choked out, dropping Lydia back onto the ground. Taking a step back into the doorway, he walked into Derek's chest and immediately fumbled for his hand. Clenching his fingers around Derek's, he seemed to shake with each breath.

Lydia and the woman both frowned, as they took in Stiles’ panic and anger. Obviously, this was not the reaction they had been expecting. Lydia glanced at Derek and then at his hand, where his fingers intertwined with Stiles'. Her face pinked as everything clicked into place.

"Oh, shit," she gasped, her hand slapping over her eyes.

 _Merry Christmas, Derek,_ he thought to himself.

* * *

 

"You need to leave. Now. Before my kids see you," Stiles spoke calmly and coldly, but he was on the verge of a meltdown. He didn’t know how he was mustering up enough ballsiness to even look Hailey in the eyes. Derek’s hand clenched a bit tighter around his own, spurring him forward.

"Leave? What? Baby, I just got--"

"No, shut up. You don’t get to waltz in here. You don’t get to call me ‘baby’. You don't get to be here. Especially not today."

Stiles was fuming now, glaring at both Lydia and Hailey. He knew Lydia hadn't meant any harm, but just seeing _her_ brought out a poison he though he had long since hidden away.

"Stiles, I'm sorry. I didn't know," Lydia pleaded, hand waving between Stiles and Derek. She, in truth, looked as mortified as he felt. Derek reached with his free hand to gently stroke up and down his arm, comforting him while also staking a bit of a claim in front of Hailey. For once, Stiles didn't scold him for his Alpha-male tendencies. He wanted her to see he belonged with someone else.

Hailey's eyes widened at the touch. She balked for a moment before narrowing her eyes.

"Are you serious? _Him_?” she croaked, hands clenched at her sides. Lydia flinched, turning to shake her head at Hailey.

"We are not talking about this now. Today is Christmas. I am spending it with my family. Get the fuck of my porch. You will not be taking this from me, too."

Derek's hand squeezed his shoulder, and Stiles moved into the touch. Honestly, he was a little surprised Derek hadn't said anything, but he was glad for his quiet support. His moment of courage quickly crumbled.

"Mom?" Scott's voice sounded small, barely a squeak, as he came up from behind Derek.

Stiles felt part of his heart break off entirely at the sound of Scott's voice. No parent should ever have to hear their kid sound like that. The pain he felt upon hearing Scott, completely paled in comparison to actually _seeing_ Scott in this moment. His warm brown eyes were wide in shock, lines creasing his forehead and the corners of those impossibly big eyes. His mouth was agape in a twisted kind of frown. He looked like he was either going to vomit or cry, maybe one after the other. Derek's expression was deeply pained as he placed a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. _No, not this. Anything, but this._

"Scottie? Oh, sweetie. I missed you," Hailey strode forward, stopping as she dropped to her knees a few steps in front of the door with arms outstretched.

Scott remained inside the door, hand now gripping the material of Derek's shirt at his arm. Several emotions flickered across his face, from excitement and disbelief to embarrassment and confusion. Finally, his eyebrows creased in the middle and his mouth settled into a pained grimace.

"Dad," he murmured, pain and a deep sadness making him sound so much younger, "Make her go away."

"My sweet baby boy, please. Come say hi to me. Come give mommy a hug, Scottie."

Scott shook his head no, eyes clenching closed as if he could escape from seeing his mother kneeling in front of him. Lydia began to cry, head falling into her hand.

“Hailey, I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, “I didn’t know.”

"Honey, please," Hailey pleaded with Scott.

Scott didn’t respond, instead turning to burrow himself into Derek's side, shaking as he snuffled away a few small sobs. Hailey's eyes watered then and her arms sagged, falling into her lap in slow motion. Lydia took a few steps toward her, before reaching out a hand to pet her hair. Hailey slapped away her hand, before sobbing into her own.

"Get out. Please," Stiles looked at Lydia, before motioning to Hailey, silently sobbing on her knees in front of the door.

Lydia helped her to her feet, trying to drag her away to the car even as Hailey struggled to grab the door.  Stiles slammed it shut, moving to drop against it and slide to the floor. He desperately tried to calm his breathing, which was already beginning to escalate into a full-blown panic attack now that the door was closed and his strong facade was stripped away. Derek made an aborted move to reach toward him, but he had his arms full of an inconsolable and sobbing Scott. He looked torn; his eyes full of his own unshed tears. Outside, Hailey's cries were escalating into miserable screams.

"No! You can't take them away from me!"

"You can't have them!"

"They're my family. They're mine!"

"Baby, please!"

"No, no, no!"

She seemed to grow more hysterical the farther away Lydia dragged her from the house. Derek gathered Scott to his chest and dropped down next to Stiles.  Taking them both in his arms, he hugged them hard. They sat there together, trying to escape the cruelty of what had just happened, until finally, the screaming stopped as a car door slammed.

The quiet that followed was almost as painful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY DRAMA! Who doesn't love a good melodrama, amiright?
> 
> School is out now, meaning a return to semi-normal updates for this and my Little Red!Stiles fic. This is the beginning of lots of sad stuff for this fic, I am warning. Don't hate me, though: I'm //pretty sure// there's going to be a happy ending.
> 
> As per usual, this is unbeta'd and all mistakes are my own. Speaking of mistakes, please let me know if I fucked anything up. find me on tumblr if your heart so desires.


	10. To Blow Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek takes the kids to the lake so Stiles can "work things out" with Hailey, much to his own frustration. After mending the relationship he has with Scott, Derek gets a visitor who brings insight about Stiles' old life.

The minutes ticked by, each passing second sounding like the boom of a cannon. Derek's mug sat untouched in front of him, the coffee long gone cold. His hands lay in his lap, where he continued to pick at a scabbed over cut he earned at work. Stiles fidgeted in his seat, Isaac bouncing on his leg.

The clock ticked. Stiles coughed. Derek sighed in response. That had been the extent of their conversation for the last hour.

"I'm gonna go talk to her," Stiles said softly, moreso to himself than to Derek. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself of something, but what? Derek couldn't quite discern.

"I need to talk to her."

"And what exactly do you want from her?" Derek's voice was as shaky as his resolve. "What are you looking for?"

"Derek, I need answers. I need to know...we have things to figure out."

 _Things._ Derek wanted to punch something. Some _things_ should be left in the past. _What was there to figure out?_ This woman had chosen to leave her family behind: she hardly deserved a conversation with the man she left. Although Derek understood where Stiles was coming from, it didn't make it any easier for him to hear. The pill was still a bitter one to swallow.

"I just...I want this to be enough for you," Derek mused solemnly. " _I_ want to be enough."

Isaac stopped his coloring, glancing up at Derek and then at Stiles. Stiles' leg stopped bouncing and he couldn't seem to look Derek in the eye.

"Please," he pleaded in a voice barely above a whisper, "Let me have this."

And who was Derek to refuse him anything?

* * *

 

Derek offered to take the kids to the lake for the day. Stiles needed the time alone and the kids needed the distraction. It was inside the preserve, just a few miles from where his family's old home had been. Allison was chattering in the backseat, keeping Erica busy while Isaac had fallen asleep a few miles back. Derek was grateful she was there; she really was a strong little girl and Derek owed her for being a trooper throughout all of this.

Scott hadn't spoken a word to anyone the entire morning and Derek was starting to worry. Today was important to him.

It meant so much to him, to be able to bring the kids here. Laura had gone a few times when Allison was younger, but Derek hadn't been able to come back. It had always felt like it was his family's place: something that belonged to the past and should be left untouched. Derek had never felt whole enough to visit the lake where he had spent the best years of his life. But now, he felt he was almost there. The children in the car were the puzzle pieces, filling up the spaces he had left empty for so long. He had always had Laura and Allison, but he was part of the Stilinskis now, too. They were all fixing each other.

"Poppa, is it almost time?" Erica peeped from the backseat.

Derek's hands clenched the wheel. He looked worriedly at Scott, who was watching him calmly.

"Pop?" He asked, eyebrow quirked.

Derek's lips quirked into a half smile.

"Yeah," he replied, "We're here."

* * *

 

"Poppa, what's that?" Erica was clinging to Derek, little bony arms wrapped around his neck. Derek looked up, following the girl's gaze until he saw the blackened shell in the distance. "Is it dinosaur bones?"

"That's a house, Erica."

"It looks sick. Why is the house sick?"

"Well, it used to be a big, pretty house. A very big family lived there. They--"

"What's their names?"

"You know how your daddy's name is Stilinski? That makes you and Isaac and Scott, all Stilinskis. The big family’s—well, their last name was Hale. They were the Hales."

"Poppa?"

"Hmm?"

"What happened to the big family?"

"They don't live there anymore. Their house got very, very sick and they had to leave before they got sick too."

"Why didn't they make the house better?"

"Because they couldn't."

"Someone should make the house better. It could be pretty again when it feels better."

Derek hugged Erica to his chest, lazily twirling them through the water. He really should start rebuilding the house again; it could really be beauitful. He could bring life back to the charred remains of his childhood. He could make it a home again.

"Mr. Derek?" Isaac's tinny voice rang out as he paddled over to them. Derek loosed an arm from around Erica to lift Isaac onto his free hip.

"Erica says you're _her_ Poppa," he whined, "But I want you to be _my_ Poppa, too!"

His lower lip trembled as he pleaded; fat tears rolled down his cheek, even as he swiped them away with muddy hands. His big blue eyes were wide and he looked up at Derek with distress. He was so adorable, Derek had to smother a chuckle. Isaac's usually soft curls were weighted down with water, longer straightened out than when they curled around his crown, and lay flat on his back. He looked like a drowned kitten and Derek was not strong enough to deny that little face anything.

"You can call me whatever you want, Izzy. And if it's okay with Scott," Derek soothed the frantic twins on his hips, "I can be your Poppa."

That had Isaac scrambling to run over to the shore, shrieking Scott's name. Allison flinched from where she was laying out, glancing at Derek. Unlike her mother, she was actually able to go out in the sun without burning a deep shade of crimson, as Laura was prone to do. After Derek assured her with a nod, she resumed her tanning so as to "tan her ghostly complexion". _Seriously, where did she even learn to speak like that?_ Scott was extremely focused on skipping stones as he sat on the shore, avoiding Derek’s eyes. _Yeah, focus on the water, Scotty. Eyes off the niece._

"Scott! Mr. Derek said he can be Poppa now, but you have to say yes!" Erica squealed, flinging herself out of Derek's arm to swim over to her older brother. She climbed into his lap to pat his chest repeatedly.

"Scott, is Derek gonna be your Poppa too?" Isaac looked on the verge of tears again as he asked Scott somberly.

Erica's excitement and Isaac's anxiety were not lost on Scott, who looked over at Derek consideringly. After a moment he nodded at the twins, earning a squeal from Erica and a soft node from Isaac. As Erica played with Scott's hair, she began to tell him the story of the big family and the sick house.

Derek came over and plopped beside them, Isaac sitting down to lean into his side. Scott made no move to turn away or move Erica off his lap. Derek reached over and patted the boy on the shoulder, a gesture made habitual after weeks spent in the Stilinski house. Scott looked up at Derek and gave him a weak smile. It wasn't much, but Derek would take what he could get. For now, it was progress and Derek felt proud of the little family he belonged to.

* * *

 

After dropping off Allison at Laura's, Derek took the kids back to his house for a nap. Stiles still hadn't texted him the okay, so he assumed he was still supposed to be keeping the kids busy. After laying the twins down, Derek wandered into the kitchen for a beer.

"I don't want her back anymore," Scott mumbled quietly.

Derek jumped a little, not having heard Scott come in.

"I thought...I wanted her back because I thought she was supposed to be here. She's my mom and I missed her. But, I don't want her here anymore."

Derek nodded blankly, sitting down across from Scott. He was grateful for Scott's openness but a bit taken aback by his honesty. Although they had been getting along, it was more in a companionable silence on Scott's part. He still wasn't too fond of actually speaking to Derek.

"She left. She was supposed to be here and she left."

Despite the sadness belying his words, Scott  remained calm. His jaw was set in a way that gave away the fact he was clenching his teeth. _Good. He's angry. He has every right to be._

"Scott," Derek sighed, "She's your mom. Your dad and her have things to work out. You have every right to be angry. And if I were you, I would be too. But you have to trust your dad wants the best for everyone."

Scott rolled his eyes and slumped in his seat. He shook his head minutely, as if he was unaware he was even doing it.

"What's gonna happen?" He asked, his voice breaking at the last word.

"I don't know, bud," Derek replied truthfully. "But I'm not going anywhere. You know that, right?"

Before he knew what was happening, Scott flung himself at Derek. There was nothing more he could say to the boy, nothing more he could do other than to hold him until he stopped shaking.

* * *

 

Scott had insisted he was too old to nap, but 15 minutes later he was passed out on the sofa. Snoring. There was actual snoring. Priceless.

Someone knocked at the door and Derek ran over to answer it before they rang the doorbell. He didn't even check the peephole before he was throwing open the door.

"Hi," Lydia looked smaller without her heels. Her hair was down and she was wearing little makeup. She looked sad as she smiled at Derek.

"Hello," Derek greeted stiffly. He was still fuming from the events that had happened at Christmas.

The woman who had brought his boyfriend's ex-wife to Christmas was currently standing in his doorstep. She looked positively radiant, for all the embarrassment playing on her face. This was sure to be interesting.

"Derek, right?" She strode forward, as if to make her way inside. Derek didn't budge.

"Lydia," he greeted.

She sighed before crossing her arms across her middle. The gesture was not a defensive one; she seemed to be steeling herself rather than for Derek's benefit.

"Listen," she began, staring Derek down, "I came here to apologize for what happened a few days ago. I'm sorry. I didn't know Stiles had moved on. I didn't know he wouldn't want to see Hailey. If you had seen him when he was in LA...well, you would've done the same thing I did."

Derek left his face blank. He nodded before closing the door behind him. Lydia raised an eyebrow, shifting into a defensive stance at the movement. Derek rolled his eyes.

"I’m not going to murder you,” he mumbled, crossing in front of her to lead the way into the back. “ The kids are all asleep and I don’t want to wake them up.”

They walked through the gate and made their way into the yard. Lydia walked over to the Wayfarer, uncovering it and stepping inside. She looked up at Derek, waiting for him to follow suit. Derek threw his head back and sighed. _I am going to regret this, I feel it in my gut._ He climbed inside.

“Do you know how I found out Stiles had left LA?”

Derek shifted in the seat, trying to keep himself from look as uncomfortable as he felt. Lydia’s hands drummed on the steering wheel, the clicking of her nails filling the silence of the backyard. Derek wasn’t sure if he wanted to have this conversation, but he couldn’t escape it now.

“I went to check on him one day; say hi to the twins, watch some Project Runway reruns. The usual. He had been feeling kind of sick and I was worried. Looking back, he was probably just feeling sad about moving. I don’t know. Anyway, on my way up to the apartment, I saw a bunch of boxes and junk on the curb. I thought maybe…I think I _knew_ , but I was hoping it was a neighbor. Or…something.”

“When I got up to the apartment, no one answered. I found out, from his fucking _landlord_ , Stiles had bowed out of his lease and just left. Just packed up and left. I’ve known that boy since the third grade, Derek. We had been best friends since high school. And he never told me anything about him leaving. He didn’t even say goodbye.”

Lydia’s voice had changed, sounding harder and much more frustrated. She was picking at a spot of damaged leather on her seat. Derek could see how she was trying to keep her hands from shaking. He thought he should feel some amount of sympathy, but he was reluctant to comfort Lydia. Instead, he waited for her to continue speaking. After a moment, Lydia sat up straighter and shook out her hair.

“When Hailey…when she left, I looked for her. For months. I called all her musician friends, all her ‘lovers’, her bandmates: no one knew where she’d gone. I tracked down her dad, who was living somewhere out in Lancaster, and he said he hadn’t heard from her in over six years. I tried so hard to pick up the pieces…Stiles was a fucking mess when she left. Did he tell you that?”

Derek nodded.

“I figured as much. Did you know I set them up?”

Derek stilled, looking up at her curiously. _Why the fuck are you telling me this? This is not something you tell me. Jesus, Lydia._

“How much do you know about how they met?”

“Honestly?” Derek hadn’t spoken in a while and his throat was rough with his anxiety. “I don’t know much about her before she—well, before…”

“Hailey’s a singer. She’s been in bands around LA for…forever. I knew her because she used to wait tables at this vegan café I loved. She’s stunning; charismatic, funny, always a story to tell. Well, she used to be like that. Anyway, I loved her. One day, she invited me to a show she was playing over by where I lived. I simply _refused_ to go to the other shows she invited me to out of principle. The Hollywood rock scene is just…well, it’s not for me.”

She gave Derek a sardonic little grin before tilting her head.

“I took Stiles with me. He was at LMU while I was at UCLA; we’d always hang out over by me, in Westwood. He had been single for a while, post-Danny. I thought maybe he and Hailey would hit it off. She was a few years older, but he’s just so…you know. And they did: they clicked. It was like they were in their own little world. They were perf—“

“Not that I don’t mind hearing about the whirlwind romance between the love of my life and his ex-wife, Lydia,” Derek interrupted, word spoken through gritted teeth, “But is there a reason why you’re putting me through this? Or do you just like making me uncomfortable?”

“I’m sorry, Derek. You’ll only have to sit through a few more minutes of this, I promise,” she reached out to pat his leg. _Even her touch feels sarcastic. Who the fuck is this woman?_ Derek tensed under her hand and she chuckled.

“They got married when Hailey found out she was pregnant. Stiles wanted to do right by her, but they were both terrified. Stiles was just out of school; he was a baby, only 21. He was working as a sub at some schools around LA, she was singing in bars and waiting tables. The point in telling you this? They worked great for a while. But I think it was all just too much for them to handle; I don’t think they were ever going to work at the pace they were going. Hailey is like a star: she’s beautiful from far away, but she burns too hot and moves too fast once you get close. She felt…stuck.”

“Are you seriously defending her? Seriously? She feels trapped so she’s allowed to leave her family to what? _Find_ herself?”

“I don’t fucking condone what she did. She was a bitch for walking away, you don’t have to explain that to me. You think I didn’t scream at her for leaving her kids behind to play music with a ragtag group of junkies? You think I didn’t hate her for walking out on my best friend to wander around the country looking for the next hit or the next great lay? I was there when hurricane Hailey hit: I know the fucking damage, Derek.  You’re not the only one who cares about Stiles, you miserable asshole.”

“Then why did you bring her here, Lydia? Why bring that catastrophe of a woman back into Stiles’ life at all? _Really?_ You’re smarter than that, I know you are. What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

Lydia’s glare was nothing short of poisonous. If Derek hadn’t been so focused on the violent rage boiling in his gut, he would’ve been more than a little intimidated by the way she was staring daggers at him. But, as it was, he was infuriated. Remembering Stiles’ panic attack and Scott’s sobs: in that moment, there was no room for anything else in him other than his anger.

“I found her, Derek. Alone and at the end of her rope in a homeless shelter: I found her. I helped her clean up and get her life together. She’s on her medication now; she’s sobered up. And the first thing she asked about, when she was lucid enough, was her kids. It had only been a year and a half since I saw them. They were older; Scott’s a teenager. I thought it was what everyone needed. I thought it could be a way for everyone to heal…I thought they could work things out for the kids.”

“ _Work things out?!”_ Derek bellowed

“Derek you’re not a parent. You’re just coming into this. You don’t underst—“

“You don’t know shit about me.”

Lydia, obviously taken aback, stopped speaking altogether. The deadly quiet of Derek’s voice had more of an effect than his shouting. She paled and swallowed thickly.

“I have been a father to my niece for the last fourteen years. Since I was eighteen years old, I have been there for that little girl. For every milestone, every heartbreak, every step of the way: I’ve been there. After _her father_ walked out, I stepped up to be whatever my sister needed me to be. When my sister was going through hell, I was there. I know what it means to _pick up the pieces, Lydia_ , once someone walks away from their family. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my niece; she is like a daughter to me. Don’t talk to me like you know me; like you know more than me about what it means to be a parent.”

Lydia’s mouth dropped as Derek sneered the last words at her. She moved her mouth a few times, as if trying to speak. But Derek didn’t let her get a word in.

“Erica, Isaac, and Scott have brought more to my life than I could have ever asked for. I _love_ those kids, Lydia. I may have jumped in for Stiles, but I’m sticking around for them, too. They don’t need their mother: those kids deserve a parent who will _be there._  Do you get that? Being a parent is not something you earn by being biologically linked to a kid, it's something you earn. _That woman_  hasn't done shit to deserve being part of their lives. But I’m not going anywhere, any time soon.”

Lydia closed her mouth, narrowing her eyes at Derek. She pursed her lips as she turned something over in her head. Derek could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

“I was wrong,” she remarked, twirling a lock of hair between her thumb and forefinger.

“Excuse me?” Derek was actually shocked. Lydia didn’t seem to be the kind of person that admitted she was wrong often.

“I was wrong about you. I thought you were a hot piece of ass Stiles kept around to make himself feel better; the 'mechanic turned rebound', Derek, read a romance novel,” she snarked. “But you’re in this for real. You’re here for good, aren’t you?”

Before Derek could answer, Lydia leaned forward to grab his face in a surprisingly strong hand. Her nails dug into the back of his head as she drew close to him. She stopped a few inches in front of his face and stared him down again. She’d directed that piercing gaze at him so many times, he was starting to get used to it. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. _Maybe not too used to it, on second thought._

“Derek, you better not let them go,” she spoke sternly, as if reprimanding a child.

“I’m serious. He might fight you. He might say he hates you. He might take everything you’re terrified of, and throw it right back in your face. But you sink your nails in, brace yourself and you don’t let go.”

She punctuated her statement with a sharp tug to his hair, shaking it with every word.

“I already told you: I’m not going anywhere,” he growled in response.

Derek held her gaze in silence for a few seconds before she smiled at him. There was nothing forced or dangerous in her smile, this time. It was tired and grateful, making her seem much smaller than she had moments before. In that smile, Derek could see warmth that Stiles must have been drawn to all those years ago. He could be a friend to the woman who smiled like that.

"I thought I was doing right by him and the kids. You have to know I thought I was putting them first."

"I know," Derek conceded. He really did get it, as much as he disagreed with her actions.

"You are the best thing that ever happened to him. You better make sure he sees that, you dickhead."

"I promise, I will."

Lydia pulled back and nodded, smoothing down her dress. She climbed out of the convertible and closed the door softly. Walking out of the yard, she paused at the gate and turned around to face Derek.

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

And then she was gone.

* * *

 

Stiles looked exhausted as he flopped down on the bed. Derek opened his arms and Stiles turned over on his belly to climb up into his embrace.

“How’d it go?” Derek tried to sound casual. _Comforting_ , he told himself, _let’s aim for comforting._

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Stiles’ voice was rough, as though he had been yelling. “Please. Not tonight. I just need you.”

Derek hummed in response, smoothing his hands under his shirt. He tugged until Stiles took the hint and moved away to take it off. Derek rubbed away the tension in Stiles’ shoulders, making his way down his back. His skin was soft and warm, smooth except for where it pebbled with goosebumps at Derek’s touch. He ran his fingers along his sides, barely any pressure under his fingertips. The ghosts of caresses. Before long, Stiles was relaxing into his chest.

“D’rek,” Stiles gulped, as he fell asleep.

“Yeah?” Derek steeled himself for whatever it was Stiles would say. He wasn’t ready to fight.

“I love you, you know,” Stiles mumbled. “I really, really do.”

Derek gathered the sheets and covered them both, turning to brace Stiles closer to his chest. He took a moment to look down at the man in his arms. Even in the dark, Derek could make out the lines of his nose and the shine of his lips as he licked at them. How had he found someone so breathtakingly beautiful? How would he convince him to stay?

“I know,” he whispered in reply, thumbing the curve of his cheek, “And I love you.”

The words had never been so easy to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Anais, how did you manage to write a whole 'nother chapter in just a few days?"  
> I don't know readers, I just don't know.
> 
> I hope this chapter clears some things up for y'all. This is meant to be the calm before the storm, so brace yourselves. I am working on the next couple of chapters: the end is in sight, guys. I should have this fic finished by the end of June, as I am going back to weekly updates, since I need to start working on my other fic (which is going to be a monster to write, pun intended). As usual, this is unbeta'd and all mistakes are my own- so please lemme know.
> 
> Find me on tumblr if you want to tell me something. I am ALWAYS open to suggestions, so tell me if you think there's something missing or if something needs to be fixed. Comments, kudos, requests, tears of hatred, etc...: all are appreciated.


	11. Until You Disappered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles deal with the fallout of Stiles' news. Stiles, however, finds he can't pack everything he needs into a few boxes.

Derek waited for the axe to fall until, it seemed, things were returning to normal. He was back to living at Stiles' house, for the most part. He had his own dresser of his clothes by now. He had a shelf in the pantry, stocked with his “junk food madness” that he sneaked snacks to the twins and Scott. He had his own spot on the couch, where he would cuddle with Stiles and Erica during movie nights.  He was back to just generally reveling in the wondrous chaos. He and Scott were a little less jagged around the edges, taking time to hang out without bickering or moping. Stiles had resumed midday blowjobs and 3am sex, just for shits and grins. It was perfect.   
  
Derek woke up one morning alone, which was a rarity in and of itself. He sat up, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. Finally feeling less like a zombie, he wandered his way into the kitchen.  
  
"Good morning," he grumbled into Stiles' hair, kissing the top of his head.  
  
"Morning," Stiles muttered in reply.  
  
Derek pulled away, narrowing his eyes. Stiles was never quiet in the morning. Usually, he was a ball of energy bouncing of the walls. Even _before_ his daily caffeine intake.  
  
"Did you sleep okay?" he tried out, trying to not to sound as worried as he felt. He distracted himself with pouring himself juice.  
  
"Yeah, just a little restless. I'm fine," Stiles replied, the casual tone of his voice sounding forced and uncomfortable.  
  
"Okay," Derek slid into his seat, "What's up? You're a terrible liar, remember? The whole 'cop's kid' thing will get you every time."  
  
Stiles crossed him arms, leaning back in his seat to tip on the back two legs. He chewed on his bottom lip and wrapped his arms around himself.  
  
"I'm leaving," he blurted out, dropping his chair down to all four legs.  
  
Derek stared, feeling his heart climbing up his throat.

* * *

Stiles wanted to jump out the window. He hated this. He hated that look in Derek's face; like he had been kicked in the stomach.

Stiles had given them these last few weeks. A little taste of bliss before he went back to LA. He was selfish and a coward. He hated himself in this moment. More than he hated Hailey.  
  
"Please," he choked, "Please listen to—"  
  
"I don't know why I didn't see this coming," Derek scoffed. He chuckled humorlessly as he rubbed his hands over his face.  
  
Stiles hated that laugh. It was the one Derek used when he was being defensive. Stiles had never been on the receiving end of that particular move; he hated the way it rang in his ears. He wanted to disappear into the floor.  
  
"Babe, don't. Just let me—I don't... Please," he was starting to sound desperate, but Stiles didn’t give a shit. He felt like he was struggling to catch his breath.  
  
"When?" Derek had folded his hands together and was just staring at the table, leaning on his elbows.  
  
"What?" Stiles couldn't even comprehend what was happening.  
  
"When are you leaving? I'd like to make sure I get to say goodbye to the kids before you pack up and go."  
  
In theory, Stiles knew he deserved the hostility; it was a lot harder to take in reality. He had planned how this situation would go, days ago in the quiet of the morning: they would both cry, Stiles would explain his kids needed their mother, Derek would beg for him to stay, Stiles would tell him he wanted to be with him, Derek would tell him he would wait, they would both cry and make things right, maybe have goodbye sex. Okay, so _maybe_ he was relying a little too heavily on romance novels. But anything was better than the cold, blankness Derek was hiding behind.  
  
"I don't understand. Why aren't you…doing anything?“  
  
"What would you like me to do? Cry? Yell? Plead for you to stay?" Derek bit back.  
  
Stiles looked up at him wanting so desperately to hold him. But he knew better. He had to take his lumps, so he stayed put.  
  
"I want to. But I'm not going to," Derek remained uncharacteristically calm. "When addicts relapse, the people that love them are upset. They cry, they scream, they pass around blame. But it doesn’t really come as a surprise, does it?"  
  
 _Oh. There it is._  
  
"Stiles, some people just like to martyr themselves. I'm not going to beg you to stay because _I_ can't _make you_ do anything you don't want to do."  
  
This is not how he imagined this conversation would go. This was far worse than his lowest expectations. And he had gotten pretty creative.  
  
"I love you," Derek stressed through gritted teeth.

"But I'm going to hate you a little bit after you go. Is that what you want to hear?"  
  
 _And how fucked was that?_ The first time Derek tells him he loves him- and it’s directly followed by Derek also telling him he’s going to hate him. Stiles was vaguely aware he was shaking his head. He stopped himself after a moment. He wouldn't leave them like this; they both deserved more.  
  
"Derek," he was aware he was pleading again before he cleared his throat. "Please don't. I can't deal with that. I don't want...I need to know you'll be okay. _Fuck_ , I don't want to go. But my kids. They need their mom. Why would I deny them the chance to have two parents? A normal life?"  
  
Derek looked like he had slapped him. Strikes froze. Of course he would fuck this up, too.  
  
"Wait. That's not—“  
  
"That's exactly what you meant. Don't apologize. You're just finally being honest."  
  
"Derek, that's unfair. You don't know what I was trying to say!"  
  
" _Unfair?!_ ” Derek shot up from his chair.  
  
Stiles shut up. He had expected Derek to yell, but he hadn't prepared for it to break him as much as he did. The tears he had been fighting broke through all at once as Derek seemed to tower above him. Derek stilled, shooting a look to the downstairs bedroom where the twins were asleep. He rolled back his shoulder before glaring at Stiles again.  
  
"Let me tell you what's unfair, Stiles," Derek sneered in a raw whisper. Jesus, this was so ugly and all Stiles wanted to do was take everything back.  
  
"Unfair is being orphaned at sixteen. Unfair is raising kids by yourself after someone leaves you, with no warning or reason. Unfair is waiting around for your mom to come back because she never said goodbye. Unfair is falling in love with someone, only to have them choose a ghost’s empty promises over you and everything you have to give," Derek rasped.

"Unfair is wanting to be a parent to kids who need one and loving those kids more than anything, only to be told you're not good enough because you didn't give birth to them."  
  
Stiles choked on his sobs. _I deserve this,_ he told himself. His new mantra: I deserve this.  
  
"Unfair is watching the love of your life walk away because he's too much of a coward to say no," Derek rasped. "I know unfair, Stiles. You feeling guilty is not _unfair_."  
  
Stiles half-fell, half-clambered off his chair and into Derek. Crushing himself into him, he wrapped his arms around his neck. He sobbed into Derek's chest, digging his fingers into the muscles of his shoulders.  
  
"I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed into warm, sweaty skin.  
  
"You're breaking me," Derek whispered in reply.  
  
Stiles held on as Derek kissed him, tears falling into their mouths as they sat together. Stiles felt part of himself crumble when Derek pulled away to rest his forehead against his.

* * *

Stiles didn't know how to make this better. His lips crashed onto Derek's mouth, like he could chase away the burn of his words. Derek let out a broken moan and Stiles shivered as the vibrations sink under his skin.

  
"Please," Stiles didn't even know what he was begging for. His voice was raw and shaking from his need to cry.  
  
"Derek. I want—I need you."  
  
Derek surged forward, teeth catching on Stiles' lower lip. He didn't care. He needed that bruising heat. He needed to feel overwhelmed and so irrevocably _Derek's_ ; he wanted to feel like he would never be able to wash away the feeling of Derek's touch. Wrapping his legs around his waist, Derek sat up from the chair. They stood that way in the kitchen, trembling and panting, until Stiles heard rustling from inside the twins’ bedroom. Derek must have picked up on the sounds, because he was then rushing up the stairs to their bedroom, one hand on Stiles' ass and the other gripping the back of his neck. Stiles hoped the bruises of his fingertips would sink into his skin, like a tattoo.  
  
Sex with Derek was different than anything Stiles had ever experienced; it was always good, always just what he needed it to be. Stiles loved way their bodies fit together. He loved the way Derek cupped his hands around the back of his hips, fitting his fingertips into the dimples above his ass. He loved the way Derek moaned out his real name when he came, even though he had never quite mastered the pronunciation. Stiles loved the way it felt when he came, Derek wringing out the fire in his gut until all he could do was smile tiredly. He liked the moment of silence afterwards, when Derek would slip out of him and curl into his chest, back to front, as sweat and come cooled on their skin. He loved it all with Derek.  
  
They had fucked. They had made love. They had sex just to have sex; to feel each other come and see how many times they could get off in a row. But this was something else entirely. Derek didn't kiss him again, once his back met the mattress. Derek busied his mouth, instead, by biting searing bruises and marks into his chest and throat. As he tore off his clothes, Derek didn't stop to run his fingers down his rib cage or across his nipples. Stiles stifled his need to cry. He didn't want this empty version of Derek; he wanted _his_ Derek. The one who laughed when Stiles got too excited and spurted lube everywhere. The man who kissed every inch of him, like he was a man parched and Stiles' was water. The Derek who cried actual tears when Stiles rode him for the first time, shaking and arching underneath him. This person above him was someone else. And Stiles hated him a little bit for it.  
  
Still, Stiles tried to make it good for Derek. He slid his hand down the trail of hair on Derek’s stomach to run his fingers along the underside of Derek's cock, the way Derek liked. When he got his fingers around him, Derek swatted Stiles' hand away and licked his own hand. Stiles watched Derek jerk himself with a few lazy tugs to get himself hard. He felt rejected; like Derek's own body wanted nothing to do with him. He brushed off the feeling and reached down to get himself hard, focusing on the lines of Derek's body and the flush on his neck.

Finally, Derek pulled out the lube from his nightstand and warmed it in his palms. Derek wouldn't meet his eyes as he moved his warm, lube-slicked fingers inside him. When he lined himself up, pushing himself inside slowly, he focused his gaze on a spot on the headboard above Stiles’ head. Thrusting up, he grimaced and clenched his jaw. _And that was just too much for Stiles to take._ _  
_  
"Stop," Stiles voice was little more than a watery gasp. He pushed Derek back as he turned his head away, trying to escape the look on Derek’s face.  
  
Derek's hips came to a halt with a stutter forward before he snapped out of whatever trance he had been in. Stiles covered his face with his hands and let out the sobs he had been trying to swallow down. They all came out at once, making Stiles shake with their force.  
  
"Stiles," Derek croaked. He sounded so _lost_.  
  
"I c-can't," Stiles sobbed, "I can't ta-ake you hating me-e. I thought I could, but I c-ca-can't."  
  
Derek slipped out of Stiles and immediately sat back, away from him. Stiles sat up to lean against the headboard and continued to cry.  
  
"I don't hate you," Derek whispered.

“I don’t believe you,” Stiles shuddered, remembering the cold blankness of Derek’s face as he tried to fuck him.

And then it was Stiles’ turn to be angry. He was _trying_ to give them this. This one last time. This one day to end things as beautifully as they had started, and Derek had poisoned it.

“You weren’t even looking at me! It was like…it was like you were…it was like you didn’t even want me. And if you don’t want me, then say something about it! Don’t be a fucking coward. Don’t fuck me like it’s killing you; you don’t have to want me, like you’re dong me a favor. Because I can handle a lot of things, Derek. I could handle you throwing me down and hate-fucking me until you don’t feel as shitty anymore. I could handle you holding me and making love to me until we cry. But I can’t handle you fucking me like I don’t matter. Like I’m not even here.”

_Like I’m already gone._

Derek ran a hand through his hair, pulling a chunk at the ends.

“I will _always want you._ That’s the problem!” Derek was trying not to shout, mindful of the kids sleeping in the house. He was still shaking, but it wasn’t out of anger now. Stiles vaguely realized he was watching Derek break down.

“Do you know how much this fucking hurts? Fuck, Stiles. It actually _hurts_ me to be with you right now. I can’t look at you because I know I’m going to have to let you go. You want to have this last hurrah, this last goodbye. And I get that. But I don’t know what to do. I’m supposed to be making love to you, but all I can see when I look at you is how _she’s_ going to get you in the end.”

Stiles couldn’t stop the sobs that racked through his body. He couldn’t explain to Derek how no one would ever be able to touch him again. No one’s skin would ever feel as warm. No one’s kiss could ever come close.

“I just want _you_ ,” he managed to whine.

Derek mussed his hair and sat on the edge of the bed, before turning and crawling up to where Stiles was curled into himself. He pulled his hands away from his face and tucked him into his lap before laying down. As they lay, naked and wrecked, Stiles could feel his body pebble into goosebumps as sweat cooled. He couldn’t seem to get warm, the weight of want leaving him raw and shivering.

“It’s not enough,” Derek whispered in response.

They fell asleep intertwined, Derek’s hand gripping the back of Stiles’ neck. Stiles hoped the bruises never healed.

* * *

Derek woke up the morning of Stiles’ departure in his own bed, feeling like he was burning. The nightmares of the fire had been keeping him up for the last three days. He was exhausted: there was only so much he could take. He got dressed, pushing off the ebbing feelings of panic. Grabbing his keys from Allison’s clay bowl, he grabbed his jacket and made his way over to Stiles’.

Stiles’ Jeep was already packed up, suitcases and boxes jammed into the back. Boyd had agreed to drive with them, his black van also presumably filled with the Stilinski’s belongings. Stiles was talking quietly with Laura, Isaac in his arms. Scott and Allison were in the garage, sitting on the floor. Scott was whispering something into her hair, his arm around her shoulders. Allison had already begun weeping, her blank face splotchy with tears. Erica was nowhere to be found.

“Poppa,” her voice shrieked, as she ran out from the backyard.

He turned around just in time to catch her as she flung herself into his arms. As soon as he hauled her onto his hip, she burst out in tears. Derek held her as she shook and cried, her little body racking with each sob. He tried to soothe her, rubbing her back and cooing comforting words into her ear. But she was having none of it.

“Daddy’s making us leave. And I dun wanna. I wanna stay with you and Laura and Alson and Mr. Boyd,” she managed through heaving cries.

“I know, baby. I know,” he rubbed circles into her back. As he turned, he caught Stiles’ eye. Stiles looked mortified.

Isaac clambered down from Stiles’ arms, making his way to Derek. Somberly, he looked up at him. His big blue eyes were clear, even though his lower lip trembled. He spoke with a careful calm.

“I dun wanna cry because it’ll make you sad,” he stopped to wipe his nose, “But I dun wanna go, too.”

Derek got down on his knees, taking Isaac into his arms as well. Isaac kept to his word; Derek could see him biting his lip as he struggled not to cry. Derek was right there with him.

“Listen to me,” he croaked, coughing once to clear his voice. “I promise you: when your daddy and mommy say it’s okay, I will come see you. You can call me or send me something in the mail, okay?”

Erica nodded as she continued crying against his shirt. She stopped for a moment, trying to catch her breath long enough to tell him something.

“I don’t wanna send sonfing in the mail! I wanna stay and have you be me and Izzy and Scott’s Poppa. I dun wan my mommy. She’s not my mommy! We’re gonna leave and then you won’t be our Poppa and you’re only gonna be Allison’s Poppa!”

Derek’s heart broke. He could hear Allison’s cries from the garage and Boyd whispering something to Laura. He had to make this better. At least for the moment, he could make it through this. He resolved himself to make it through the goodbye. One they were gone, he could have his cry. But right now belonged to the kids.

“I promise,” he whispered, cleaning off Erica’s nose with his shirt. “I will always be yours, and Isaac’s, and Scott’s Poppa. Okay? I promise. Now, I need you to promise me something too. I need you to be a big girl and try not to cry. I know it’s hard, but you have to try. Let’s remember the good stuff, okay?”

She nodded before swiping at her eyes. Isaac rubbed his face against Derek’s beard, placing his little hand around his neck. Derek stood up and carried the twins over to Stiles, gesturing him to open up the car. Stiles wiped away his face before reaching to put the twins in their booster seats. Isaac shied away from Stiles’ touch, so Derek let Erica fall into her daddy’s arms instead. He walked around to put Isaac in his seat.

“You won’t forget bout us?” Isaac asked, his wide blue eyes searching suddenly narrowing as he glared at Derek.

“Never,” Derek whispered, kissing him on the forehead.

* * *

Everything was packed and the house was now locked up. Scott looked like he wanted to run away, but Derek made his way over anyway. Allison was quiet now, having completely turned to smother her face in the Scott’s neck. Derek coughed and Allison looked up at him, brown doe eyes red and cry-swollen.

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” she muttered, walking over to Laura’s side.

“I’m so sorry,” Scott mumbled, not making a move to get up from the ground.

“What do you have to be sorry about?” Derek sat down next to him, making sure not to knock their knees.

“I wanted my mom to come back. And she did. And now everything is falling apart,” Scott grit his teeth, eyes cast down to the garage floor.

“Scott, she came back because she wanted to. It had nothing to do with you making it happen. Sometimes things just…happen. It’s not your fault. This whole thing is…it’s messed up, it is. But it has nothing to do with you. You have _nothing_ to apologize for.”

Scott nodded. Derek could see the agitation in the set of the boy’s jaw. He reached out and placed his hand on Scott’s shoulder. Scott leaned into the touch before turning to face Derek.

“It doesn’t feel right to leave,” he said sternly. Derek couldn’t agree more, but there was nothing he could say.

“I thought if my mom came back we could all go back home. Back to LA and back to being a family. But you’re more family than she is. And it just doesn’t feel right to leave you,” he said.

Derek didn’t know what to say in response, so he nodded and moved the hand on Scott’s shoulder up to his head. He mussed his hair then leaned forward to knock their temples together.

“You worry about you and your siblings and your dad. I’ll worry about me. And what I told the twins applies to you too. If you ever need anything from me, I am here. If you ever want to talk to me, you can call me. I’ll always be your Poppa, too, Scott.”

Scott turned further, hugging Derek tightly. Derek grasped tighter for a moment before letting go. Scott pulled away and smiled softly at Derek, getting up and dusting himself off.

“I’m not saying goodbye to you,” he muttered awkwardly, smile still pulling at his lips. “Cause I’m gonna see you again. I _promise.”_

Derek returned the smile. And he found he believed Scott’s words.

* * *

As Boyd drove down the driveway, Stiles stopped the car in front of Derek. He rolled down the window, before stopping halfway to just get out of the car.

“I love you,” he forced out, wrapping his arms around Derek’s back. He kissed Derek hard on the mouth, not giving him the chance to say anything.

Derek whimpered a surprised “oof” into Stiles’ lips, before kissing him back. Breaking the kiss, he nosed at Stiles’ jaw before pulling away completely.

“I know,” he replied. He ran his thumb along Stiles’ lower lip, as if memorizing the way it looked against his fingertip.

Stiles got back in the car and wiped more tears from his already reddened face. He waved at Derek, now joined by Laura and Allison. As he drove away, he looked in the rearview mirror just once, knowing full well he was leaving behind more than just a house and a few empty boxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you guys think. Unbeta'd and I put a lot into this chapter, guys. Feel free to comment or drop by my tumblr. I'm almost done with the next chapter, so expect an update soon.
> 
> NOTE: Don't hate me. A happy ending is on the way.
> 
> 4 more chapters, guys.


	12. I Held On As Tightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after Stiles leaves Beacon Hills, Derek is still struggling to cope without the Stilinski's. He gets some unexpected visitors and has to deal with the repercussions of helping them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has come to my attention that there may be some discrepancies with Stiles' decision to leave in the last chapter. As such, here's some insight as to his mindset and past experiences. I hope this offers some clarity as to why he left and why he thought it was the right thing to do:
> 
> For me, Stiles' immaturity plays a big part in all this. He grew up really quick. While the rest of his friends were enjoying their last year of college, Stiles was getting used to being a father to his wife's child from a previous relationship AND preparing for kids of his own. He was working several jobs and baby-proofing his apartment, while his friends were turning 21 and getting wasted. Now, the only thing with growing up so fast, is that sometimes it leaves gaps in your development. Certain life lessons don't really come to you until later, despite what you've already had to endure. Knowing how to be in a healthy, functioning relationship. Knowing how to let people in and ask them for help. Recognizing that being a parent isn't something you're entitled to because you're biologically their parent; parenthood is earned. Stiles is struggling with all of that, despite his experience as a parent and as an adult.
> 
> That being said, this is his first relationship in five years. His first ever serious, passionate, monogamous (it's implied Hailey was never monogamous) relationship, for that matter. He's floundering and confused and desperate. He wants to be the perfect partner but he's also struggling with feeling guilty about being happy because he's always had to put his kids first. Additionally, because it's been just him for so long, he doesn't really stop to think about how he should include Derek in his decision-making process. He doesn't stop to think about how what Derek actually wants is different from what he thinks Derek wants. These are all things that come from working at a relationship over time; he and Derek were together less than a year and are still figuring things out as they go along.
> 
> Him leaving Derek stems from guilt. He feels guilty his kids only have him, like he has shortchanged them. He didn't know how his kids really saw Derek until after he had already made plans to leave. He is naïve and a bit desperate to be everything for his kids; he's not seeing the reality that is Derek's undying devotion. He has never known what it's like to have everything be easy and good, so when Derek brings that to his life: Stiles walks away.
> 
> The irony here (of course there's irony, because I am a huge English dork and love literary devices) is that he's leaving Derek just like Hailey left him to begin with.

**_Six months later..._ **

****

Laura rubbed the back of his head, something Derek remembered from his childhood. After a while, she stopped to settle down next to him.  
  
"You're so much stronger than you used to be," she remarked softly.  
  
Derek scoffed. He was done with people telling him how strong he was. He was sick of being strong. He wasn't meant to play this role; they'd picked the wrong guy.  
  
"Laura, I'm so tired," his voice came out as raw as he felt. He knew Laura would let him speak his fill. "I've always been the strong one. In everything and to everyone. Not that you're not strong in your own right; that's not what I meant."  
  
She raised an eyebrow, ready to defend herself, but Derek placated her. She continued staring him, dissatisfied.  
  
"You're fierce," he sighed. It was the "go-to" Laura-appeasement statement.  She smiled at him and bowed her head, motioning for him to continue.  
  
"What I meant was," he licked his lip, cracked and rough, "Why doesn't anyone get to be strong for _me_?"  
  
Laura's face crumpled. She reached out to hug him, but Derek was already on a roll. He couldn't stop the words coming out if he wanted. These words had been sitting on his tongue, fermenting for weeks.  
  
"I'm not okay, Laura. I'm not. I'm so fucking angry and sad- it's like I'm drowning in it. Everyone told me to fight for him, make him stay, show him I'm 'the one': whatever. But I just don't—Why? Why is that _my_ fucking job?"  
  
Laura continued stroking his hair. Derek was shaking now. His mouth tasted salty and bitter. He must have started crying, but he didn't remember it. Despite the warmth of Laura's embrace, he felt a familiar chill seep into his bones.  
  
"I just wanted him to fight for me, too. I wanted him to choose me like I chose him. And it wasn't just him. I wanted all of them; I miss those kids, Laura. _Fuck_ , this hurts. This hurts so bad. How do I come back from this?"  
  
"I wish I could tell you it gets better. That you'll eventually forget what it was like. That you'll find someone else. That you'll be fine," she eventually spoke, green eyes staring right at him.  
  
"But I can't. I can't promise you those things, as much as I wish I could, babe. I'm still not sure it ever heals all the way."  
  
"I wish there was some cookbook recipe to fix this. I wish I could tell you, step by step, how to make it through this. The only thing I _can_ tell you is you'll live through this. You'll have me. You have Allison. You have a life to live. You will wake up every morning and you will go on with your day. You'll get dressed and go to work. You will make it a habit until you learn to move through the actions. You will learn to breathe without it tearing open your chest. You will put one foot in front of the other until you're past this shitstorm. And that's all you can do; the rest is out of your hands."  
  
Derek looked up at her, doubting her advice. How was it that simple? He could he just move on? Like walking or breathing?  
  
"I don't know that I can. I feel like there's a part of me that doesn't want to. It's like," he struggled for words. How could he phrase this without sounding like a mess?  
  
"It's like he's a bruise. This massive bruise constantly throbbing under my skin. And it hurts. And it's killing me. But I'm scared that it'll fade away. I want to keep pushing and rubbing at it so it'll stay. Because as much as it hurts, I'm a lot more afraid of being without it and being okay without it. As much as it hurts to push down on that bruise, at least it reminds me he was here. He happened."  
  
"You want that pain because it’s familiar, honey. I get it, Derek. I do. But you have to understand...letting go is the only way to make it out; healing is something you have to go through. And you have to do it for you. Shouldering what he feels and what you feel is too much. You can only take responsibility for yourself; your actions are your own, and that's it. You focus on what you can do, what you are doing, and what you will do. And that's it. Coping, healing, moving on: it all comes in time."  
  
"Did you ever really forgive Chris?" He asked quietly.  
  
"I don't know," she answered honestly.  
  
"Did you ever stop loving him?" Derek didn't know what answer he was hoping for.  
  
"No," Laura's face looked haunted. She wasn't looking at him anymore, staring just past his shoulder at the wall behind him.  
  
"That never goes away."  
  
Derek nodded and let himself be wrapped inside his sister's arms again.

* * *

"Derek, how's that Camry coming along?" Frank called from the office.

  
"Done," Derek yelled across the garage in reply. "She can come in twenty; I'll have it up front."  
  
Derek closed the hood of the car and ran inside to get the keys. When he came back, a familiar red-head was leaning on the side.  
  
"Lydia," he greeted stoically.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Hale," she called out, "I had a couple questions to ask you."  
  
"Let me move this car and you can ask me while I work."  
  
Derek started up the car and drove it to the front lot, parking in a far stall. He may have taken the long way back around in order to stall (car pun intended) a bit, but no one had to know that.  
  
He had just walked into his workstation when Lydia walked up and slapped him across the face. The sharp sound echoed through the garage. Boyd stopped working on the motorcycle in his station to loon up jerkily and gape openly. Greenberg dropped the fender he was moving, before hastily picking it up and scurrying outside.  
  
"You promised," Lydia bit out.  
  
"Lydia," Derek tried to speak, but she was having none of it.  
  
"Less than two weeks after I speak to you, I see Stiles and the kids at one of Hailey's godawful coffeeshop shows," Lydia screeched.  
  
Derek's cheek was starting to sting. He wiped at it, before opening the hood of the Porsche. He hated European cars.  
  
"Derek, he's miserable. He hates LA. Scott hates his school. The twins are in kindergarten and they hate it. Hailey is...she doesn't know what she's doing."  
  
Derek sighed heavily. He didn't have nay of the parts this Porsche was going to need. Lydia kicked his shin.  
  
"I'm listening! Shit, that hurt," he rubbed his leg furiously.  
  
"Louboutins. Fabulous and deadly," she sneered.  
  
Derek stepped back to lean on the workbench. He rubbed at his face. He was so tired   
  
"Lydia, I told myself I could make him stay. I told myself I wouldn't let him do this to himself. But when it actually happened...I couldn't actually do anything. I was so..."  
  
"Helpless?"  
  
Derek nodded somberly at Lydia. She came forward and hugged him awkwardly.  
  
"I know," she rubbed his back, as though trying to comfort herself more than him. "Me too."

“I can’t fight for someone who doesn’t want to be fought for, ya know? And he didn’t fight for me either. He just gave up. And I can’t let him pull me down with him.”

Lydia nodded against his chest. He felt a wet spot on his shirt from where her tears were starting to soak through.

“I know. I just, I wanted someone to blame. This is actually all on me. I brought Hailey down here. I had these big plans of fixing everyone and this happy ending for Stiles. I just wanted to see him be happy with her; I didn’t think it’d come back to bite me in the ass like this. I didn’t stop to think there was a reason everything happened the way it did. That he was better off and had someone else fixing him. You must hate me.”

“Lydia,” Derek pulled her away from him. “I don’t hate you.”

“You should,” she retorted, straightening her blouse and fixing her eye makeup in the reflection of the Porsche.

“I couldn’t bring myself to: I think you’re starting to grow on me,” he smirked at her and rubbed her shoulder.

“How long are you in town?” he asked when she smiled at him.

“For a week. My husband should be up here in a few days so we can drive back together.”

“Stay at my place. Please, I’m sure Allison would love to have you around.”

Again, she smiled at him- softer this time.

“I’ll see you for dinner, Sourbrows,” she called out, putting on her sunglasses and walking out of the garage like nothing had happened.

Glancing at Frank, who was gaping at Lydia from inside the office, he raised an eyebrow in challenge. Frank put his hands up, palms facing Derek in a placating gesture. He turned to face Boyd, who promptly mouthed “Sourbrows” at him with a grin.

“Don’t let that fucking catch on,” Derek pointed a finger at Boyd before getting back to work.

* * *

Derek was getting ready to go home after a particularly long day at the shop. The garage was closed from the front and Derek was cleaning up. He was dreading having to deal with another customer when the phone rang.

“Hale Motors, this is Derek speaking,” he answered as politely as he could.

“Umm, Derek?

Derek froze at the sound of the voice on the phone, almost dropping the box he was holding in his left hand. He checked the clock on the wall, finding it was almost 7.

“Scott?” he asked, already knowing well enough he was on the phone with him.

“Hi, Derek…so, I kinda need a favor,” Scott chirped. The forced calm was wearing thin, even through the phone.

“Scott, what’s wrong?”

“Can you come…I need you to come get me?” Scott’s calm broke as the last words sounded more of a question. He sounded like he wasn’t sure Derek would want to see him. There was rustling in the background and some traffic noises. Scott cursed under his breath.

Derek hadn’t heard from any of them in months. He had promised the kids could call him whenever they wanted, with Stiles and Hailey’s permission. Since they left, he had never received a phone call. He tried not to feel too bitter, but he had expected more. Especially from Stiles. He had left dozens of voicemails, but not a single one had been returned or acknowledged.

“ _What?_ Go get you? From where?” Derek was already locking up the shop and grabbing his keys. “Scott, what’s going on?”

Scott sighed through the line. Derek could practically see his shoulders slump and his eyes clench in embarrassment. God, he missed that kid.

“Please don’t tell my dad,” Scott groaned.

_Shit._

* * *

Scott was well aware of how much trouble he was going to be in when he got home. Hopefully, Derek would listen to it and hold off on calling his dad right away. He needed just a little bit of time to explain. He really, _really_ hoped Derek would listen.

It was about 8:30, meaning he would be in Chico in about half an hour. Derek should be there by the time the bus pulled into the station. Scott had timed calling him when he was about two hours away, giving Derek plenty of time to get to the bus station. Scott’s phone beeped as a text message came in 

Dad:

_Just checking in. Are you coming home for dinner?_

Scott bit his lip in frustration. He had told his dad he would be over at his friend Cameron’s after school. Thank God, Stiles had been so busy with work and the twins to call Cameron’s parents for confirmation.

He texted back a quick, “ _Sleeping over. See you after practice tomorrow.”_

Stiles wouldn’t mind the sleepover since Cameron’s mother worked near the school and would drop the boys off on weekdays. When it had just been Stiles and the kids, Martha would always help out with dropping off Scott. He hoped it wouldn’t register as odd on Stiles’ dad-radar.

Dad:

_Ok, bud. I love you. See you tomorrow._

“Not likely, Dad,” Scott mumbled as he straightened in his seat.

* * *

Derek parked the car and walked to the lighted portion of the bus station. It was fairly empty and there was no bus in sight, meaning that Scott hadn’t arrived. Derek was angry with him, but his concern outweighed everything else at the moment. What was he even doing in _Chico_? Obviously, Stiles didn’t know about the trip. Derek gathered as much from the phone call. He was in over hid head with this one.

The bright lights of the bus interrupted his thoughts. Squinting, Derek walked up to where the bus was unloading. After a few minutes of waiting, Derek started feeling anxious. He didn’t see Scott’s shaggy head anywhere.

“Scott!” he called out anxiously. He swiveled around, scanning every face that passed by him.

“Sir? Does this one belong to you?” the bus driver jerked a thumb at a boy sitting directly behind him. The boy looked up with a goofy grin and Derek breathed out a sigh of relief. His hair was shorter, which was probably why Derek hadn’t immediately spotted him. The haircut suited him, making his babyface look a bit older.

“Yeah. He’s mine,” Derek tried to sound stern, but his relief made it nearly impossible.

“Since he’s under fifteen, you gotta sign a release form. I don’t even know how he made the transfer at Sacramento. It’s against Greyhound policy to be on one of these buses for a trip more than five hours,” the driver shot an annoyed glare at Scott, who shrugged in response as he handed the papers over to Derek. _Typical Scott._

“I’m so sorry. I’ll definitely speak with him about…being more responsible. Thank you,” Derek mumbled in reply as he scribbled an illegible signature across the papers.

Grabbing Scott’s bag, Derek took Scott by the shoulder and to the Camaro. Once in the car, he felt his anger and frustration start to boil again. Instead of screaming at Scott, whom he was sure had good intentions, he focused on starting the car and making the drive back to Beacon Hills.

“What in the _hell_ are you doing here?” he bit out, once they had been driving for a good hour.

“Can we get something to eat? I’m starving,” Scott evaded answering the question, looking sheepish and a bit anxious.

“Fine. But you’re telling me everything once we stop,” Derek muttered.

* * *

In the parking lot of a truck stop fast food joint, Derek thumbed open his phone. It wasn’t too late to call Stiles. He _should_ call Stiles this second. But Scott’s face made him pause.

“Let me explain before you call him,” he pleaded.

Derek nodded, dropping his phone in middle console before grabbing his burger. He took a bite and gestured for Scott to continue.

“Things have been pretty crappy for the last few months, Der,” he began, licking his chapped lips in a way that was so eerily _Stiles_ that Derek choked a bit on his mouthful of food.

“Hailey is still acting really weird. Dad is working way too much. They’re never home, and when they are…they don’t even talk.”

Derek’s gut dropped. He gulped down some soda and wiped his mouth, forcing himself to calm down.

“Are you guys all,” he felt like he was reaching for something, “uh, living together again?”

Scott nodded his head, not meeting his eyes. Derek didn’t know what he had been expecting; it hurt to hear anyway.

“But it’s not like they’re sleeping in the same room or anything, Pop. It’s okay,” Scott smiled reassuringly at Derek.

“It’d be okay if they were, Scott. I mean…she’s your mom. He’s your dad. They’re married,” Derek rasped. His mouth seemed to fight every word.

“No, it wouldn’t be okay,” Scott shook his head angrily. “My dad divorced Hailey a long time ago. They’re not back together; they won’t get back together. She’s tried, but he just won’t.”

Derek tried not to show how relieved he was. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back and resting it against the headrest.

“He still loves you, you know,” Scott spoke through enormous mouthfuls of fries.

“Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“He keeps a picture of you by his bed. He says your name in his sleep sometimes. And he put you as one of my emergency contacts for my school papers. I don’t even think Hailey’s on there.”

Derek nodded solemnly. He could’ve done without the information, but just hearing it soothed something in him. _He still loves you, you know._ He thought he’d be healing by now, but it was like Scott just ripped off the band-aid.

“Scott, I don—"

“Did you know he put the twins in school?”

Derek jerked his head back, startled by the tangent in their conversation. He nodded his head, remembering Lydia telling him a few days ago and trying to think of the relevance of this information.

“They just turned five last month. Dad had to put them in kindergarten because he’s working so much, he can’t teach them at home. Hailey’s working too, I guess. Or maybe he just doesn’t trust her with their school stuff. You know why were homeschooled?”

Derek shook his head numbly. He knew the twins had turned five; he had called to wish them happy birthday and sent them both presents. Of course, the call had never been returned. However, the box hadn’t been returned either- so Derek held on to the hope Isaac and Erica had at least gotten their gifts. His gut was churning and he had suddenly lost all appetite. He set his food down next to where the rest of Scott’s food lay untouched on his lap.

“Isaac has really bad anxiety. The kind where it gets so bad, he has panic attacks. He was on medication when he was littler; it was so bad, my dad pulled him out of preschool and decided to teach him at home. Erica wouldn’t go without Isaac, so my dad pulled her out too.”

“Now they’re back at school and Isaac hates it. He’s back on medicine and he cries all the time. Erica cries because Isaac cries. It’s so fuc-messed up,” Scott catches himself, sending a quick glance at Derek. “Isaac thinks my dad is punishing him for missing Beacon Hills. He thinks he’s making him go to school for missing his Poppa.”

Derek’s eyes water and he starts picking at the leather on the steering wheel. He can’t handle this talk right now. Not after the months he’s had to be without these kids who mean everything to him. Scott clears his throat before he starts again.

“I never knew my real dad; he died when I was a baby. Stiles has been there for me since I was seven and he’s never let me down. But when we got back to LA,” Scott’s voice was thick with unshed tears and his fists were clenched in the leather of the seats, “That first week after the twins were back at school, he came in to tell me goodnight and I told him I hated him.”

“I’ve never said that to anyone before. And I don’t think I’ll ever say it again. Derek, it looked like I had punched him in the stomach. It was so sad. An-and I didn’t even mean it! I was just _so mad at him_. For leaving you. And making me and Erica and Izzy leave you. For making Isaac feel so terrible and for making Erica depressed. Do you know how shitty it is to see a depressed _five year old_? I just…I was just feeling everything at once and then the words were out before I even knew I was saying them. And he didn’t even get mad at me back! He didn’t even say _anything_! And I just hate that apartment. And I hate being away from you and Allison and Laura. I hate being away from this stupid town!”

Scott was heaving by the end of his tirade. His hands were shaking, although the rest of him remained unmoving.

“For a long time, all I wanted was to have my mom come back and have her be in love with my dad again. I wished on every birthday wish and lucky penny and every eyelash wish. And then we met you. And I knew my dad liked you. Whenever he talked about you, he’d get this dumb smile on his face. Like you were the best thing ever. And I kinda hated you. I hated you because I was scared of you; I thought you would take Stiles away from me.”

“But you love all of us. I know you do. And we love you. And I have my mom back, but it’s like she’s not really here. She tries so hard to make things work, but it’s just not working. My dad can’t talk to her without getting all quiet and sad like he used to. He’s miserable without you, Derek. And I didn’t know what else to do because it wasn’t getting any easier or better. So, I came up here because you guys have to fix what happened. I don’t know how, but you and my dad gotta try something.”

Scott looked at Derek earnestly, his eyes wide and pleading. Derek didn’t know where to start; what words to say to make this all better. Rubbing at his face, he started the car.

“I’m not sure there’s anything I can do, Scott,” he said, pulling out of the lot. “But I’ll talk to him.”

The promise sat heavy on his shoulders the entire way back to town.

* * *

With each ring of the phone, Derek’s heart accelerated. Lydia and Scott were at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Glancing over at them, he earned a reassuring nod and thumbs up from them. He could do this. He could. 

“Hello?” Stiles chirped, obviously not having read the caller ID.

“Hi,” Derek replied almost instantly. _Smooth one, Hale_.

“Oh,” Stiles gasped. “Derek?”

Derek gulped down his panic. Stiles sounded so torn up over the phone: equal parts elated and mortified to hear from him. Derek decided to get the conversation over with, moving to the living room sofa.

“Stiles, I need you not to freak out.”

_Okay, maybe not the best to lead with._

“Derek, what’s going on?”

Stiles was panicking; Derek could hear it in the shaky calm in his tone. _Definitely not the best way to start out the conversation_.

“Don’t freak out. I just wanted to tell you that, uh, Scott’s here. With me. At my house,” he explained in broken fragments of a story. Jesus, this was spiraling downwards quicker than he had expected. He glanced over at the kitchen table, where Lydia had a hand over her face and was shaking her head. _So, this is going well…_

“ _What?!_ ” Stiles screeched over the line. Derek grimaced as he held the phone away from his ear. There was a clatter and some shuffling over the line before Stiles spoke again.

“Oh my God, are you fucking kidding me? He told me he was at his friend’s house. How did even _get_ up there?”

“He, uh, took a Greyhound,” Derek replied lamely.

“As in, a bus?”

“Yeah. I picked him up at the bus station in Chico.”

“Goddamnit, Scott. The resourceful little shit. Oh my God, I am so sorry. You didn’t need to deal with this,” Stiles sounded pained. There was more shuffling and some zipping from Stiles’ end.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad he got here okay. He’s fine with me for now. What do you want me to do?” Derek bit his lip in anticipation. He heard whispering from behind him, turning around to see Lydia and Scott watching him from the behind the adjoining kitchen wall. Good to know he had an audience

“I’ll come get him. I can be there in a few hours. Is it, umm, okay if I come get him?”

Derek thought for a moment. He’d be seeing Stiles again for the first time in six months. Did he even sure to see him again? He found himself nodding in response before realizing Stiles was waiting for an answer.

“Yeah. That’s fine. See you later,” he finished numbly before hanging up.

* * *

It was as if Derek’s house was becoming the Island of Misfit toys. Sitting across from himself and Lydia was a familiar scruffed, grey-beareded face. It was not pleasantly familiar. The only reason said face was in his kitchen was because of the sweet, dimpled one next to it.

“So mom was wondering if Chris could stay here for a while,” Allison muttered nervously, glancing between Derek and her father. “Just until he can move his stuff into the place he bought.”

Chris straightened up in his seat. He rubbed his hands together, before clearing his throat. Derek was rather enjoying this.

“It’d mean a lot to me if you’d let me stay here. I’ll pay you while I’m here, if you want. It’s only for a week or two,” he clarified through grit teeth. Derek was enjoying seeing the man look so uncomfortable; he had never asked Derek for anything and it was obviously paining him to do so.

“Laura said you should, right?” Derek asked in reply.

Chris nodded, confusion apparent in his face. Derek took another sip of his coffee to hide his smirk. His sister was a brilliant, terrifying woman. And her ways of extracting revenge were just as terrifyingly brilliant. Chris detested Derek as much as he loved Laura; and he loved his daughter enough to ask to stay in one of Derek’s extra rooms. Lydia sent him a questioning glance, which Derek returned with an amused grin.

“It’s fine by me. Just stay out of my way, Chris, and we’ll be just fine,” Derek said with all the saccharine he could muster. He held out his hand and smiled wide. Chris shook it begrudgingly and gave him a quick nod in response.

“Thank you, Derek. I’ll make sure to write you a check when I leave,” Chris replied, tightening his grip on Derek’s hand before letting it drop.

“Well, this pissing contest is fascinating to watch and all, but why don’t I go ahead and bring Allison around back to show her the surprise that just came in? That sound okay, Derek?”

Lydia grabbed Allison’s shoulders, shaking her softly in excitement. Allison raised an eyebrow before smiling confusedly at Derek and heading out the back door. Her screech of excitement and sobs of joy as she saw Scott made Derek smile. He regarded Chris a moment.

“Listen, I know you don’t want to be here. And I know you know I don’t want you to be here. We don’t like each other and we don’t get along, I get it. But you know what we have in common? We love that little girl. And I just want to see her happy. If having you around and in her life makes her happy, I’m willing to hate you a little less. You think you could do the same?”

“I think I could make that work,” Chris agreed, thumbing his coffee mug. He looked up at Derek then, a look flashing across his face briefly. “I am sorry, you know. For everything.”

Derek nodded before turning around to grab Chris some sheets for the guest room.

“Not just for Laura. But…for Kate. For what she did to you,” he spat out. “I wish I could take that all back.”

Derek froze in the hall, turning back to face Chris. He was still seated at the table, fists clenched and back ramrod straight. He looked genuinely haunted.

“You can’t choose your family, but I wish I could’ve have chosen to be a part of someone else’s. One that didn’t have her poison in it. I will never be able to take away what she did, Derek, but you got know I had no idea until years later. You can hate me for leaving Laura, but not for what _that monster_ did. I couldn’t look Laura in the face when I found out.”

“So you left,” Derek filled in the blanks. He had always wondered what the last straw had been; never known why Chris had up and left. It all made sense now.

“I was a coward. Hate me for that,” Chris almost pleaded.

Derek handed him the sheets and walked upstairs without a word.

* * *

The doorbell rang a few hours later. Derek had just gotten out of the shower, but he was sure someone downstairs could get it for him while he dressed. He needed a moment to collect himself before heading out of his room. 

After his talk with Chris, Derek had stumbled upstairs and cried to himself in the bathroom for ten minutes. Finally picking himself up, he crawled in the bathtub and turned on the shower. After a long, hot shower he felt clean again. He felt empty and raw, but clean. It was like Chris’ words had covered him in a gritty truth he couldn’t bear to feel. The scalding water had leeched out some of the pain he felt.

His thought process was interrupted with a knock at the door. He stumbled over, zipping up his jeans. He opened the door, fully expecting Lydia or Allison on the other side.

“Oh,” Stiles breathed out, hand raised as if to knock again.

“Oh,” Derek repeated, feeling his earlier calm slip through his fingers.

“Hi,” Stiles stuttered, shoving his hand into his pocket.

“Hey.”

Derek's brain had ceased to function, all coherent thoughts disappearing as he took in the man before him. It didn’t hurt as much as Derek thought, for all the freaking out he had done over the phone. _I’m still breathing,_ he thought to himself, _I’m okay._ He coughed into his hand and opened the door wider, inviting Stiles inside.

Stiles entered cautiously, glancing around at the room. His nose scrunched as he looked around. Derek threw the towel he had been using into the bathroom before facing Stiles again.

“It looks the same. I don’t know, I just assumed you’d…you know,” Stiles gestured wildly with his hands. He looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Were you expecting crumpled love letters and empty ice cream cartons everywhere?” Derek asked sarcastically.

He didn’t know where the bitterness was coming from. But he was irritated at Stiles’ tone. Like he was disappointed or confused that Derek’s room looked normal.

“I just thought with Hottie McDilf downstairs, maybe you’d have some of his stuff up here too. Guess you’re just hitting it, no strings attached, then?”

Stiles matched his sarcasm with biting words of his own. He looked furious now, if a little embarrassed. His grimace didn’t match the sad set of his eyebrows. He looked like he wanted to cry.

“Hottie McDilf? What the fuck are you even saying?”

“Oh, come one, Derek. I’m not an idiot. The scruffy Silver Fox that opened the door? He said you were taking a shower and he had sheets in his hand. We’re both single adults, it’s fine to admit you’re seeing someone.”

Stiles tried to sound witty and nonplussed, but Derek saw the hurt in the way Stiles’ shoulders slumped and the way he rubbed his nose. He only did that when he was trying to distract himself from crying, Derek remembered fondly. He hated that he remembered Stiles’ defense mechanisms like he was recalling mannerisms and characteristics from a mental scrapbook.

“Scruffy Silver Fox. You mean Chris,” Derek spoke slowly, making sure to enjoy Stiles obstinate displeasure.

“Chris. Like Christopher or Christian?” Stiles asked, as if there were a right and wrong answer.

“Chris, like Christopher Argent,” Derek explained, “Like Chris, Allison’s dad and Laura’s ex-boyfriend.”

Stiles’ eye widened and his mouth dropped open. His eyebrows shot up as his cheeks reddened, clearly mortified at his assumptions. Derek smirked as he sat down on the edge of his bed.

“He’s staying with me until he can move his stuff into the house he bought. In the guest room,” he clarified further.

Stiles nodded, sitting down next to Derek. He picked at the skin of his thumb as they sat in uncomfortable silence.

“Sorry,” Stiles was the first one to speak, “I just assumed—“

“It’s okay. I know,” Derek interrupted, knowing full-well well what Stiles had assumed. “I’m just…there’s no one else.”

Stiles stiffened and nodded at Derek again. After a few more moments of silence, he reached over to brush his fingers over Derek’s hand. Derek flinched at the touch, but he didn’t move away from his hand. Swallowing loudly, Stiles moved his hand on top of Derek’s and intertwined their fingers.

“I’m sorry for everything else, too.”

“I know,” Derek responded quietly.

“I thought I could do this alright. I planned it, you know? I wanted to ring the doorbell and smile when you opened the door. I wanted to hug you and ask how you’ve been while we sat down for coffee in your kitchen. I’d yell at Scott, pay you for the gas you used to drive down to Chico, and thank you before I left. And then my whole plan went to shit when I saw, uh, Chris at the door and holding your sheets.”

Derek turned to look at Stiles fully. Their hands still clasped together, he moved sideways and set them on his knee. He didn’t know what to say. Six months of pining and pain, and he finally had Stiles in front of him: and all the words were stuck in his throat.

“My stomach felt like it dropped right to the soles of my feet. Jesus, I didn’t know what I wanted to do more: run out of there or cry in the doorway.”

He chuckled humorlessly. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with a free hand.

“You don’t really get to feel that way about me, Stiles,” Derek managed to say through the roughness of his voice. “Not anymore.”

“I know that,” Stiles stressed desperately, sahking the hand that was still holding Derek’s. “I don’t deserve that, I know. But I felt it. I still—“

“Don’t say it,” Derek warned. He dropped Stiles’ hand, rubbing his palms over his jeans as if he could chase away the warmth of Stiles’ skin.

“Derek,” Stiles pleaded. Derek hated when he sounded like that.

“You _chose_ to leave. You _chose_ to end this. You don’t get to walk into my house after six months and tell me you love me. Six months, Stiles! Half a year of silence; I didn’t get a single fucking phone call or email. I didn’t even get a letter or a fucking postcard. So fuck your ‘I love you’ and fuck _you_.”

Stiles didn’t cry. He didn’t respond at all. And in that moment Derek understood Scott’s anger. He felt what Scott had felt that night he had yelled at Stiles.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles finally replied, empty and quiet.

“No,” Derek stood up and kicked the side of the bed. “I don’t want to hear you tell me you’re sorry. God, I would rather hear anything else than you’re sorry. Literally, anything else.”

Stiles nodded, hands in his lap. He looked like the picture of surrender and Derek hated him for it. How dare he give up when he had just been about to say he loved Derek? How dare he offer up empty apologies in the face of everything he had done? How dare he make Derek feel just as vulnerable and fragile as he had six months ago when he first left?

“What, Derek? What do you want me to say? That I made the worst mistake I have ever made in my life? That I am on three different types of medication because I can’t function anymore? I can’t sleep or think straight or go through a day without crippling anxiety. Which is something, apparently, I have passed on to my son. What can I tell you about, hmm? How I have fucked up my kids because I don’t know how to be a good parent?”

Derek rolled his eyes, trying to hide how frightened Stiles’ words actually made him. He leaned against the dresser as he stared at the floor.

“What can I say to appease you and all your suffering, Derek? Do you want me to tell you how much I hate myself for giving up on the best person I’ve ever known? Do you want to hear about how much it haunts me to know that I will never love anyone else? Do you want me to get on my knees and explain to you that I didn’t call because every time I thought about talking to you, I would end up vomiting in the bathroom after a panic attack? Will hearing that ease your pain, dearest Derek?”

Derek snapped his eyes up to Stiles’ face. Stiles, still not crying, was wide-eyed and flushed a startling red. He looked so painfully broken, it was all Derek could do to stop himself from touching him. _I want you. I love you. Always,_ his head screamed out.

“You know that’s not what I want to hear,” he said, instead.

Stiles shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts.

“If I could take everything back, Derek, I would. You should know that. After everything we’ve been through, you have to know that. If I could, I’d go back and change everything. I would never have even left your bed that morning.”

He got up from the bed and approached Derek slowly. He stopped a few inches in front of Derek’s feet before resting a tentative hand on Derek’s arm. He seemed to be thinking of what to say next, biting on his lip.

“I didn’t fight for us,” Stiles said as he rubbed circles into Derek’s skin with his thumb. “That’s what I hate about myself the most: I just gave up.”

“You can’t go back, love. What’s done is done,” Derek was surprised to find he was trying to comfort Stiles; trying to smooth out the pained expression on his face.

“I can’t accept that,” Stiles retorted. “Fuck, I _won’t_ accept that.”

Derek breathed out a sigh of exasperation. After the day he had, he was drained. He needed to sleep. He couldn’t deal with the heaviness Stiles was shouldering right now.

“Stiles, I’m so exhausted. Please we can—“

“No. I didn’t fight then, but I’m fighting now. I won’t accept that this is it for us because I need more. I need us. Derek, I need you. My kids need you. I don’t know how I ever thought I could do this without you.”

“This?” Derek questioned, running a hand through his hair.

“This. Everything. Anything,” Stiles offered by way of explanation.

“I walked away because I thought I was making the best choice for everyone. It was wrong of me to decide that on my own. I just…the things I’ve done have never been anything but difficult. I’ve never been able to have anything come easily to me. And then you…happened. And everything was so…”

“Easy,” Derek supplied.

“Like breathing,” Stiles agreed, eyeing Derek with a fixated stare. He moved his hands to cup Derek’s face and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Derek’s. All of Derek’s exhaustion slipped away, leaving a nervous excitement in its place.

“I remember thinking, ‘how could something so easy and so effortless possibly be the right thing?’ And I ran. I packed up my things and kids without even thinking how it would affect you. Or my kids. I thought I was being selfless; I thought I was just making a hard decision to give everyone what they needed. But, Derek, leaving you was the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. It’s the _wrongest_ thing I have ever done. And I will never forgive myself for hurting my family; because you didn’t deserve that.”

Derek’s eyes shot open as the words sunk in. _My family_ echoed in his head. Stiles’ family included him. After months of trying to distance himself and trying to forget what it felt to be a part of it, he remembered. He remembered his place at the kitchen table and on the couch. He remembered his shampoo bottle in the shower and his own dresser in Stiles’ room. He remembered picking up Scott from school and coloring with Erica and Isaac. He remembered it all. He finally gave in, resting his hands on Stiles’ hips. He pulled him in and inhaled deeply, reveling in the sweet, musky scent that was so wonderfully _Stiles_.

“Derek, I am begging you to let me fix what I did. Because that is something I can do. I can’t fix you, and I can’t expect you to fix me. I know it’s something we have to do for ourselves. And I want to be with you while we figure that out. I want to be with you until I’m old and ugly and I can’t even remember who you are,” Stiles rambled on. Derek smiled against Stiles’ neck, shaking his head. _Only Stiles…_

 

“Please. Please let me try to take it back,” Stiles’ words caught in his throat for the first time since he had walked into Derek’s room.

 

Derek held him as he cried. He pulled him tighter against him, until he swore he could just about feel the thumping of Stiles’ heart against his own chest. Even then, he pulled him tighter. He didn’t have an answer for Stiles. He didn’t know what he wanted. But for now, he wanted this. The smell of Stiles and the wet warmth of his tears against his throat. He let himself have this, even if just for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay monster updates! This is a long one, so I hope it's alright. Please let me know what you think and, as always, leave me a comment or a kudos.
> 
> Next update will come next week. It's going to get better, I promise.
> 
> Find me on tumblr!


	13. As You Held Onto Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he flies back, Stiles visits his dad and Melissa to try to explain and fix the mess he made. Also, Derek and Stiles make plans to help Derek see the twins. Their reunion is everything Derek could've wished for.

Derek woke up before the sun had really risen, the outside sky still a silvery blue. He knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, so he threw on a sweatshirt and stuffed his feet into some sneakers. Making his way downstairs as quietly as he could, he padded into the kitchen. He was perplexed to find the coffeemaker already on, a still steaming and mostly full pot sitting in the tray. He poured himself a cup and turned the lights off, heading into the living room. The sliding glass door leading to the backyard was hadn’t been closed all the way. A cool summer morning breeze slipped through the gap. 

Walking into the yard, he could see the top of Stiles’ hair peeking from the top of the convertible. Derek sighed heavily and made his way over. He hadn’t been able to throw the car out. It had sat in his backyard for months, collecting leaves and rust. The work he had put into restoring the body all for naught, now, as rain and wind returned the old car to its former junkyard glory.

“Hey,” Stiles called out softly. He didn’t turn around, resolutely staring forward. 

He was surrounded in a pile of blankets in the backseat, the steam from his coffee billowing up in the chilly morning air. Derek grunted a response and climbed into the car.

“How long have you been up?” Derek asked, rubbing his eyes vigorously.

“I couldn’t sleep,” came the reply. “My meds keep me up.”

Stiles looked exhausted. His eyes were red-rimmed and his hair was a mess. He ran his pointer finger around the top of the mug, mindlessly making endless circles.

“I didn’t know you went to college,” he said suddenly, gesturing to the lettering on the front of Derek’s sweatshirt. “You don’t, umm…ya know, seem like the college type.”

Derek chuckled. College had been a blur; time split between helping out Laura and trying not to flunk out. He had worked hard to get into the business school, but he was soon in over his head. He had passed, eventually and by the skin of his teeth, but he hadn’t done anything with his degree since then. At the time, it had just felt like something he needed to do: a promise he had to fulfill. The diploma was somewhere in his study under a mountain of dust. 

“I wasn’t the biggest fan of college, actually,” he explained. “So you’re not totally wrong. I went because I thought needed to. I wanted to have a degree, I guess, just so I could have it up on the wall or something. My mom…she always wanted me to go.”

Stiles winced, side-eyeing Derek with a grimace. Derek chastised himself, inwardly. This is not where he thought the conversation would be heading. It was too early for a conversation this awkward. 

“I, umm,” Stiles floundered for a bit. “I’m sorry.”

Derek huffed in reply and leaned against the car with his back to Stiles. He was trying not to be bitter. He really was. But he was tired and his body felt heavy. He didn’t know what he wanted more: Stiles gone or back in his life. And Stiles wasn’t doing much to help him with his decision.

“Sorry… _fuck_ ,” Stiles hissed exasperatedly. “I can’t stop saying that, can I? I feel like if you had a dollar for every time I’ve ever said that to you, you’d be a very rich man.”

“How much money would I have if I had a dollar for every time you meant it?” Derek retorted bitterly, taking another sip of his coffee.

The leather of the seats creaked. Silence filled the backyard again. Derek didn’t mean the words that he spat out; he was just overwhelmed. Stretched out too tight. Worn out. He felt lost. And he felt like taking it out on Stiles, good intentions be damned.                                            

“Stiles, I’m—”

“I’m never going to fix this…am I?”

Derek turned then, letting his eyes slowly meet Stiles’. _Haunted_. That was exactly what that look was. Derek never thought he’d be the reason behind that face. Closing his eyes, he shook his head minutely. 

“Do you think…would you see the kids again?” Stiles question came out as a whisper. He looked up at Derek, but it seemed as if he was looking past him. “Please don’t punish my kids. Derek, I’ve done enough to them, as it is. They love you and I hate myself for what I did to them. I can’t accept that you don’t still love them, too. I just—I can’t.”

“Okay,” Derek replied softly. Stiles’ head shot up at his answer, mouth falling open. He looked so unbearably hopeful in that moment. He looked lighter.

“Oh, thank God. Oh my God, thank you.”

Derek opened the door and climbed into the seat next to Stiles. He reached out and took one of Stiles’ hands in his, running his thumb across the familiar bony knuckles. He chose his next words carefully, not wanting to give too much away.

“School gets out next week for them, right? Maybe I can fly down sometime during the weekend?” Derek asked carefully. The control he was exerting to keep his voice from shaking was palpable; it was taking all of him not to bury his face in the soft skin of Stiles’ shoulder. Just sitting there, breathing the same oxygen was exhausting. God, he hoped he was doing this right. “I can take some time off work and maybe stay for a few days?”

“Next weekend?” Stiles rasped. His hand tightened around Derek’s. If his eyes opened any wider, Derek was sure they’d drop right out of their sockets. “How long will Frank give you?”

Stiles was chewing on his bottom lip, nervousness exuding him in waves. Derek didn’t want to seem overeager, but he was dying to see the twins again. He missed them with a tangible ache. 

“Well, seeing as I run the place and _Frank_ works for _me_ , I think I can swing a couple of days. If that’s okay with you?”

“Oh. You’d come down?”

“Considering LA is south of Beacon Hills, yes.”

“To LA?”

“Stiles, for the love of—”

“Yes. Yes, please.” 

Derek shook his head and chuckled. He had missed this. Just talking to him; just reveling in the smell and feel of Stiles. He brought up the hand holding Stiles’ to his mouth and lightly kissed it. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply; that smell was irrevocably Stiles, like crayons and sunshine and sugar.

“I missed you,” Stiles whispered tentatively, as if feeling around for where he could and couldn’t go. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

Derek opened his eyes and kissed Stiles’ hand once more. He cleared his throat before replying, quietly. 

“I know.”

* * *

Stiles stood on the front porch, pacing. He had raised his hand to knock on the door four times. Each time, he dropped it and turned away. Hopefully, he’d grow a pair in the next half an hour. He had a flight to catch. Mid-stride toward the door, it swung open. The face greeting him was not pleased.

“Hey, um, Dad,” Stiles stuttered uncomfortably. He hated being on the receiving end of his dad’s “cop face.” He felt 16 and guilty, almost immediately. “Or are you John right now?”

“Szczęsny,” his father replied tersely. _Oh shit_.

“Bringin’ out the big guns. I’m in terribly deep shit, aren’t I?” Stiles asked in a voice nearing a squeak.

His father sighed loudly and opened the door all the way, inviting Stiles in before walking away towards the dining room. They passed by Melissa in the kitchen, making herself lunch in her scrubs. Stiles gave her an awkward wave and didn’t miss the crook of her eyebrow as she waved back. She mouthed a silent, _You’re gonna get it._ Stiles groaned.

John sat down in one of the living room chairs, motioning for Stiles to take a seat at his right. This was the “big talk” routine Stiles had grown accustomed to throughout high school. His father would use his birth name, lead him to the dining room table, and then—yep, there it was: _that look_. Stiles hung his head and waited for him to begin.

“Szczęsny,” he spoke calmly and firmly. “I don’t actually know where to start.”

Stiles winced. He could deal with being yelled at. He could deal with the terse way his father would whisper-scream at him in halted words that were over-enunciated between gritted teeth. He could deal with almost anything, except the careful calm his father used now. As if he was at a loss. He hated that voice.

“Dad, I’m sorry,” he said miserably. He slouched in his chair, head resting in his hands.

“Son, I know. But I don’t really think you understand what happened while you were gone,” John replied. “Stiles, you don’t _get_ the extent of the fallout from the bomb you dropped.”

And that startled Stiles into sitting upright. _What?_

“Your 13 year old kid has more sense than you do. I mean, that speaks volumes about your parenting. But, I don’t know how much that says about mine,” his dad chuckled. The sound was too loud and too empty in the silence of the room. 

“I just don’t understand you. I don’t get it. Please tell me what was going through your head when you left; what justified moving your family away from the people who love them?” 

His father didn’t look angry; the sheriff was leaning into the table, earnestness and confusion clear on his face. Stiles couldn’t lie to him. It was time to put all the cards on the table.

“I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t know—I thought…I wanted everyone to be okay,” he stumbled his way through the thoughts swarming around in his head. His father held a hand up, interrupting his train of thought. After a few moments, he motioned for Stiles to start over. 

“Christmas. Over Christmas, Lydia came by. She brought Hailey,” Stiles explained carefully. “I guess Lydia found her in a homeless shelter doing volunteer work. In a fucking _shelter_ , dad!” 

“You will watch your language in my house, son. Your step-mother is in the other room,” the sheriff scolded. Stiles shook his head and pulled at his hair.

“Dad,” he snapped, “Lydia found her dirty and starving in a homeless shelter in Los Angeles. She took her in, cleaned and sobered her up, and then drove her up to my house. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked.”

“Then a few days later, I met with her for lunch while Derek took the kids. We talked. She told me she was serious about being back in the kids’ lives; she wanted to work things out. We talked about what happened. We talked about how we were. I told her I could let her try being around for our kids, but that we were done and I had moved on. I told her I was with someone else and it was serious. She seemed okay with it; she said she could respect—”

“You mean to tell me,” his dad interrupted, “You upped and packed for that woman? The same woman who up and left you and her own children five year ago?”

Stiles tried to speak, but he was quickly shut down. 

“You took your kids away from a chance at starting over, just to thrust them back into the place where everything fell apart? Tell me if I’m getting this right, Stiles.”

“She’s the mother of my children, Dad! How could I not give her a chance? What was I supposed to do?” Stiles screamed. He was verging on a panic attack, control slipping through his fingers. Just like everything else. “What was I supposed to _do_?”

“You should have called me!” his father was shouting now. “I got back from vacation and you were _gone_. My grandchildren were _gone_. And the man I had already accepted into my family, the man I _thought_ you _loved_ , was devastated. Everyone shut down. No one knew anything except that you were gone. You didn’t call. You didn’t mail me anything. You didn’t leave me anything to go by, save for the keys to your house. I’m your _father,_ Szczęsny. You owe me more than that.” 

“Dad, I—” 

“You will speak when I am finished, do you understand?” 

Stiles nodded, eyes watering with embarrassment. He felt a thousand words building up in his throat; his mouth felt like it was on the verge of exploding, a thousand apologies and explanations threating to spill out.

“That woman deserves nothing from you. She had her chance and she blew it; completely wasted it. Stiles, being a parent is a job; it isn’t something you’re entitled to because your name happens to be on someone’s birth certificate. Being a mother or a father…that is _earned_. That is sweat, tears, and blood you put into loving and helping a child grow. You should know that. You’re Scott’s father, regardless of whoever helped bring him into this world. Anyone can make a baby; not everyone has what it takes to be a parent, let alone a good one.”

“That woman checked out five years ago. She doesn’t deserve to get to be here now because it fits into her schedule; she doesn’t deserve the convenience of having you drop everything to come running back. Why? Because she’s ready to handle being a mom now? That’s not how this works. You weren’t ready and guess what? You dealt with it. You put on your big boy pants and you raised your kids. You made that choice. And look at what you’ve done: you’ve raised three kids into beautiful little people. _You_ did that. She doesn’t’ get to swoop back in and enjoy the ride until she gets bored.” 

“Dad, it’s not like that. You don’t understand,” Stiles tried to explain. “I’m an adult, for Chri—Christmas’ sake. I know what I’m doing.”

“I realize you are an adult; I get that you have your own responsibilities and duties. You’re a father and a damn good one, at that. But you are also my son. And as _your_ father, it’s my job to tell you when you’ve fucked up,” John spoke with that impassioned whisper Stiles was familiar with. Melissa poked her head from the kitchen and made her way to the table, sandwich plate in hand. She rested her hand on the Sheriff’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly.

He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and calming down. He released a deep sigh and took her hand in his, resting his forehead on his free hand. He cleared his throat before speaking again. 

“I recognize things are no longer in my control. I know it’s not my job to be there at every step to make sure you do everything right. I haven’t been able to do that for you for a long time,” the Sheriff, pacified by Melissa’s touch, spoke softly. “You are going to make your own mistakes. You’re going to break things you’ve worked hard to build, only to have to build them again. There are certain storms you’re going to have to weather by yourself. I know that.”

Melissa sat down in the empty chair across from Stiles. She released her hold on John to reach for Stiles’ hands. She squeezed tightly, interlocking her small, strong fingers with his long boney ones. Stiles laughed a bit at her strong grip, wiping tears on the shoulder of his shirt. She smiled at him, her kindness quieting his earlier panic.

“But, Stiles, you also have to know that you don’t have to weather _everything_ on your own. You don’t have to throw yourself into the storm just because you don’t know what else to do. Your father and I have seen, firsthand, how strong you are. That’s not the point, here,” she insisted, shaking his arms. “The point is that you grit your teeth and endure for the sake of enduring. There was a time when that was your go-to defense mechanism: it needed to be. But now, you don’t need to shoulder everything anymore. You are literally surrounded by people who adore you. People who will fight, tooth and nail, for you. We know life has been hard for you; you’ve been through the grinder and we will always be proud of and respect you for how you pulled yourself and your kids through it. But you don’t have the right to run away from the things that are good for you.”

“Kid,” his dad cut in, “You’ve got to go with your gut. You’ve got to give yourself a break. You have to defend what is important to you; if you don’t fight for the things you want and need, no one else is going to.” 

“Except, maybe, Scott,” Stiles mused.

John raised an eyebrow. Stiles shrugged and smiled, a quick upturn of the corners of his mouth. _Really? What did the sheriff expect from his son?_

“You also have to realize that your kids are older now; they’re more aware of what’s happening around them,” Melissa insisted, getting them back on track. She released Stiles’ hands with a quick squeeze. “You can’t just move them around anymore. You can’t take people they’ve latched onto out of their life on a whim. You have to take into consideration the way they will react and cope with the things you throw at them.”

“I know,” Stiles groaned, throwing his head back. “I know more than anyone.”

The last several months had shown him that. Erica had developed serious anger management issues. Any time she was overwhelmed or emotional, she coped by physically lashing out. The school had sent her home several times for fighting, when a simple time out hadn’t been enough to quell her apparent rage. Isaac was a walking basket case of anxiety and dependency on his sister and father. It was still a struggle for Stiles to drop him off every morning. He would have to pry a screaming, sobbing Isaac off his leg on the worst days. On the better days, Isaac would cry softly into his shoulder as he carried him to the classroom. The medication made Isaac weepy and listless, but it made his anxiety a bit more bearable. Stiles hated seeing his kids so emotionally distressed, but he was coping. He was determined he was going to fix this.

“Then you know what you gotta do, Stiles,” Melissa remarked encouragingly. She got up and walked around the table to kiss his forehead. She hugged him to her chest and scratched his head, a habit she had picked up when Stiles was young. It grounded him and comforted him; it was something only Melissa could do. “I trust you. I know you’ll be okay.”

“Thanks, Melissa,” he whispered into her arm. “And I’m sorry. 

“Make it up to me by moving forward, okay?” she pulled back and kissed his cheek.

After she had left, Stiles felt his fear and unease die down.

“I think it goes without saying you have to mend things with Derek,” his father remarked, back to reprimanding him.

“Yeah, I’m trying,” Stiles mumbled bitterly. “Dad, I don’t even know where to start.”

“You grovel. And you plead. And you woo. And you bend over backwards to show him what he means to you. And you can start by letting him back into the lives of your kids,” the sheriff said pointedly. Stiles blushed and nodded. “You give back what you took away.”

“What if he doesn’t want it?” Stiles felt more like he was asking himself. He wasn’t really looking for an answer. Not really. 

“Szczęsny,” he father clapped him on the back and squeezed his shoulder. “I saw how miserable he was without you and the kids. He still has Erica and Isaac’s booster seats in the garage, for crying out loud. I saw them the last time I was picking up a cruiser he was tuning up for me. He wouldn’t have driven to pick up Scott (what in the _hell_ , by the way?) if he didn’t care about him. That man will _never_ not love your kids. Or you.”

Stiles choked on a small sob. Surging forward, he collapsed into his father’s arms. His father patted his back and hugged him tightly. He cried until he felt empty, throat rough and eyes burning. His dad released him, eyes red with tears of his own. Stiles left his father’s house after another hug and a promise to call. Walking to the rental car, he felt lighter. Like maybe he had hope left to cling onto, after all.

* * *

 Derek fidgeted in the elevator. He tucked his hands into his pants pockets before taking them out, only to shove them into the pockets of his jacket. He paced a bit, only stopping when he realized there was a woman staring at him. He blushed a bright red and stopped moving entirely. 

“Nervous?” she asked, amusement clear in her voice.

“Yeah, a bit,” he answered. _Lady, if you only knew._ She chuckled at his embarrassment and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Let me guess, hmmm. You surprising someone?”

Derek nodded his head and played with the inside of his jacket pocket. He was never too skilled at talking with strangers. Not unless he had a clear purpose of doing so, or something to gain.

“My kids. I haven’t been able to see them in a few months,” he explained cautiously. “They’re five.”

He didn’t know why he answered the woman truthfully. He could’ve lied. He could’ve said he was meeting a lover. A business associate. A blind date. But just saying it out loud- _my kids-_ it felt right. It felt real.

“You got nothing to worry about,” she sounded reassuring and Derek’s apprehension waned a bit. “You’re their daddy and I’m sure they missed you as much as you missed them.”

Derek smiled and thanked the woman as the elevator pinged. She called out a, “Good luck!” through the closing elevator doors and gave him a thumbs up. Derek, bolstered by the kindness of strangers, walked to the apartment door and knocked. He braced himself and breathed in deeply a few times.

“Hello?” Stiles sing-songed through the other side of the door. “Is the pizza here?”

“Got a large pepperoni for Stilinski,” Derek played along. His palms were sweating and he felt like he was shaking. He hoped to God he would make it through the door before blacking out.

The door opened and Stiles beamed at him. Derek didn’t have time to do much of anything before the sounds of little feet padded from somewhere to the left. Derek looked up at Stiles who disappeared behind the door. He reappeared a second later to usher him in. Derek walked inside slowly, equally anxious and excited.

“Poppa?” Isaac gasped, voice a watery squeak. He trembled where he stood in the hallway. His big blue eyes were blown wide and his mouth was agape, a spitting image of Stiles. Derek nodded, gulping loudly. He didn’t know what to do, frozen with emotion in the middle of the entryway. Isaac made up his mind for him, dashing forward and into his body with a loud thump. Derek stumbled backward a step, almost falling down on his ass. He dropped to his knees and crushed the boy in a hug. 

“I missed you, bud,” he whispered into Isaac’s hair. “I missed you so much.”

Isaac was simultaneously crying and trying to speak through his broken sobs. His whole body seemed to shake against Derek’s chest, little arms scrabbling to grab whatever part of Derek he could reach.

“You’re s-so better than pi-i-izza,” the little boy finally choked out, lip trembling and hands wiping away his tears. Derek laughed and resumed pressing noisy, wet kisses all over his face.

Their reunion was cut short by the sound of another pair of feet slapping down the hall. Erica stopped short of the adjoining living room, taking in the scene before her with the same wide eyes and gaping mouth Isaac had displayed not minutes before. With a loud screech and violent flailing, she threw herself into Derek’s lap.

“You’re here! You came for us!” she bellowed. She rubbed her face into Derek’s neck, now sticky and damp with snot and tears. Derek couldn’t even bring himself to mind. He had two armfuls of sobbing, shaking five year olds and he had never felt so loved.

“I’m here. I got you,” he mumbled into their hair, kissing them each on the temple. He squeezed them tighter to him. 

“Daddy took you away,” Erica accused grumpily, sniffling into his jacket. “Why did he take you away?”

“Erica! Don’t talk about that,” Isaac whined. “You’re gonna make Poppa sad.”

Erica quieted down, only to erupt in tears again. She bawled and punched Derek’s chest, a newfound rage making her tremble with its force. Stiles tried to intervene; he tried pulling her away from Derek before she could land a punch to his face, but that just seemed to infuriate her further. Derek handed Isaac to Stiles, setting off another crying-timebomb. He scooped up Erica and moved to sit on an armchair in the living room. Turning her around, he crossed her arms around her chest and spoke soothingly into her ear.

“Erica, honey, I need you to calm down,” he whispered. “Breathe with Poppa, baby. Stop fighting and breathe.”

Erica growled and fought to free herself from Derek’s grasp. Derek hugged her tighter to him and breathed in deeply, exhaling after a few seconds. Soon, Erica calmed and began imitating Derek. When she was fully quieted, he picked her up and cuddled her into his side. Isaac was whimpering from somewhere behind him, the sound of Stiles’ voice whispering to him barely audible from Derek’s place in the armchair.

“Erica, baby,” he cooed softly, getting her attention. “Honey, tell me what’s wrong. 

“You never called,” she replied, sounding far older than five. Her voice was calm, but Derek could hear the underlying anger. “You promised. And you never called. Not even on my birthday. 

Derek turned her face by her chin. Her eyes were narrowed and her jaw was clenched in her defiant fury: a picture-perfect little warrior queen. He ran a hand through her messy curls and she didn’t bat his hand away. He took that as a sign to continue.

“I wanted to, honey. I did,” he said earnestly, “but I didn’t know when I was going to be able to see you. And I didn’t want to make you sad. Not when I couldn’t be there to make it better.”

She considered this for a while. Soon, her earlier wrath slipped into a familiar sadness. Her big brown eyes clouded with tears and she nodded her head. She looked up at Derek and sniffed before crying silently. She climbed into his lap and cried into his shirt. Stiles came into view in front of him, Isaac struggling to free himself from his father’s grasp. Derek outstretched an arm and Isaac clambered into his lap as well. Stiles looked devastated. He reached towards the twins, hesitating. After a moment of indecision, he climbed into the armchair too.

“I’m sorry, my loves,” he sobbed into Erica’s hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Derek closed his eyes. Here, five hundred miles from Beacon Hills, he felt at home. He felt whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, here's an update. I feel like this is really dialogue-heavy, but (what with all the drama and whatnot) it really needed to be. We're coming up on the resolution and /maybe/ these two working things out. Maybe? Who knows? We shall see. What are you guys hoping for? Anything you want to see or maybe revisited? I am open to pretty much anything.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments, I learn best through your guys' feedback. If you like what I'm doing, please leave a kudos. Yell at me or send me a hug via tumblr, if you would like.
> 
> No promises on the next update. I'll let y'all know.


	14. Where I Call My Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting worse for the Stilinskis as Hailey and Stiles try their best to make things work. Stiles realizes he must make a choice for everyone. The fallout isn't what he expected...

The food on his plate was steaming. Derek had burnt his tongue already, trying to eat hurriedly so he could escape. From the conversation. From the people at the table. From the apartment, itself. The way he figured, if he had food in his mouth he couldn’t be expected to actively participate in the conversation swarming around him.

“No,” Stiles spoke through gritted teeth.

“ _Yes,_ ” Hailey pressed.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Stiles argued. “Why would I—“

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re trying to scam—“

“You’re so fucking paranoid! There’s no scam!” Stiles shouted, slapping both hands on the table. Derek’s plate rattled with the motion and he reached out to settle it, spilling his glass of water in the process. He muttered an apology before jerking forward to clean up the mess. Scott flashed him a grateful look before turning back to the DS on his lap. The twins continued eating, ignoring the entire goings on of the table.

“Maybe, we should move this conversation to the bedroom?” Hailey asked calmly, but not before smirking at Derek. “The kids shouldn’t see us fighting. 

Derek’s hands gripped the towel with a little more force than strictly necessary. He knew he was being baited, but he couldn’t help reacting. Knuckles white, fingers creaking from the pressure: he was going to snap. Scott stood suddenly and placed an arm on his shoulder.

“We’re gonna go get some ice cream,” Scott announced to the room at large. “Have fun fighting.”

Derek nodded and let the dishtowel drop to the table, refusing to meet Stiles’ eyes. Erica reached for him as soon as he turned to walk away. Scooping her up in his arms and taking Isaac by the hand, he followed Scott out the door.

* * *

 

Erica had already made a mess of her cone, chunks of strawberry dripping down the front of her dinosaur shirt. Her mouth was covered in a sticky pink glaze that Derek had given up on trying to clean. Isaac was much more cautious about his ice cream, tilting it away to let drops fall onto the sidewalk. Derek reached out to clean the corner of his mouth with a thumb, chuckling at the boy’s determination to stay clean. He smiled up Derek then, one of his bottom teeth now missing. Derek kissed his head and continued eating. 

“I’m sorry,” Scott mumbled through a mouthful of Rocky Road. “They’re always like that.”

“Well, I’m sorry you have to see them like that,” Derek grumbled in response.

“Mom just…I don’t know,” Scott began, frustration plain on his face. “She likes getting Dad mad like that. It’s like it makes her happy because if they’re fighting, he’s paying attention to her."

Derek frowned. Scott was far too perceptive for his age. In the few days Derek had spent visiting the kids, he had noticed the dysfunction within the apartment. Not that it was Derek’s place to complain or say anything. But each night he went back to his hotel, he couldn’t help wondering how Stiles put up with it. To an extent, he could understand Stiles sticking it out for his kids. But there would have to come a point when enough would have to be enough. There was no way a volatile environment could be helping out with Erica’s aggression or Isaac’s anxiety. Scott was old enough to know when and how to escape, but that only went so far. Derek was about to burst, and he didn’t even live in the apartment.

“They’re trying to work things out,” Derek tried to explain, albeit sounding defeated. “They both love you guys very much; they’re trying.”

“I don’t want them to try anymore,” Scott spat. He threw his cup of soupy brown ice cream away and sat down next to Derek on the bench. “I want to go home.”

Derek’s winced at the sadness in the boy’s voice. This wasn’t fair to anyone involved. This mess was drowning everyone in it. Despite Stiles’ joy at having Derek around the twins again, Derek could see his exhaustion. The lavender hollows below once bright eyes made his face look gaunt; Stiles, already lean and tall, no longer looked lanky. He had lost weight, his small hips jutting out of looser-fitting jeans. It simultaneously pained and infuriated Derek; it made him feel helpless and angry at things he couldn’t fix or fight.  Derek patted Scott on his shoulder and gave him a brief hug, interrupted by Isaac crawling into his lap.

“Poppa, I’m done,” Isaac chirped. His sticky hands pulled at the front of Derek’s shirt. Derek scooped him up and tossed his half eaten cone in the trash. Erica, meanwhile, seemed content to lick every trace of strawberry from the cone before eating it. Derek set about trying to clean them up as well as he could in the drinking fountain, Isaac on his hip and Erica on the floor.

“Your kids are beautiful,” a young woman called out behind him. Derek turned to see a pretty, waif-like girl dressed in running gear. She smiled at him and gestured toward the twins.

“Thanks,” Derek replied shyly. “I’d like to think so.”

“You and your wife are very lucky to have such cuties,” she crooned, bending over to smile at a frowning Erica. Derek saw her glancing at his left hand, where he was rubbing at Erica’s mouth. His left hand and the very noticeable lack of wedding ring. She looked back at Derek’s face, smiling.

“He and my Dad are very lucky,” Scott said coldly, leaning against the water fountain.

The girl looked over at Scott, abruptly breaking eye contact with Derek. She blushed, before waving and jogging away. Derek chuckled, shaking his head at Scott.

“Really?” he asked, not at all annoyed.

“She was totally flirting with you! She was seeing if there was any competition,” Scott explained casually, although he was still watching the girl jog away with a concentrated glare.

“How you do you even know this stuff?”

“I have to keep the panting mobs away from my attractive parents,” Scott retorted. The raised eyebrow looked frighteningly familiar. Derek really needed to stop doing that: it was catching on. “It’s my job to tell them to keep away.”

“Do you remember when you told me that?” Derek mused. “Or, something like that. The first time I met you. In the garage?”

Scott rolled his eyes and walked up to take Erica’s hand. He pinched her side, making her squawk. She slapped his hand away, but grabbed it again after a quick scowl.

“Well, look what happened there,” he muttered. A smirk crept onto his face, despite his petulance. “I’m glad you didn’t listen to me. I’m glad he got you.”

Derek glanced at Scott and nodded in response.

“I’m glad I got all of you.”

They walked through the park in comfortable silence; passing the time until it was dark enough to head back to the apartment.

* * *

 

Stiles hated fighting with Hailey, but it was all they did lately and they had perfected the art. He sagged into the armchair in the living room, arms heavy and head throbbing. Hailey, eyes red and cheeks blotchy, was still going at him. 

“So, what? You’re just gonna pack up and leave?” she screeched. "Just because  _he_ shows up..."

Stiles shut his eyes. Dropping his head on the back of the chair, he inhaled deeply. His chest was tight; each breath felt like it rattled through his lungs. He opened them to stare at the ceiling he was tired. Tired of yelling. Tired of leaving. Tired of letting people down.

“This isn’t working,” he admitted. The words sounded final: a diagnosis. Or, maybe a sentence.

“What?” Hailey rasped. “What the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

“Us. This!” Stiles’ voice broke as he yelled back. He struggled to reign in the fury bubbling up in his head. “Can you honestly tell me you think this is working out for everyone? For you and me? For the kids?”

Hailey opened and closed her mouth, struggling to speak. Stiles was still seated, but his legs were tensed and firmly planted on the floor- prepared to spring up at her. The silence in the apartment was stifling.

“I’ll fight you for them, you know. I’ll take you to court. I-I’ll get a lawyer,” she rattled on. “I’ll get custody. I’m their _mother._ ”

Stiles froze. His jaw tensed; he was morbidly afraid of the hysteric laughter that would erupt out of his mouth if he didn’t exercise perfect control in that moment. _Custody? After all the bullshit, bitch thinks she can win custody in an actual court of law?_

“What judge in his right fuck mind would grant you partial, let alone full, custody of my kids?” Stiles finally asked, every word spat out through clenched teeth.

“Everyone knows judges and juries always side with the mother. No one wants to take kids away from their mother,” she retorted. Her arms were crossed and her stance determinedly defensive, chin raised in defiance.

“Why would they take them away from you when _you_ already did that! You left!” Stiles responded. He wanted to shake her.

“I said I was sorry! I’m trying to fix it!”

“You can’t! Nothing you do will ever make up for the fuckery you pulled, you crazy bitch.”

Hailey jerked backwards. Her eyes widened in shock before she narrowed them at Stiles. She was trembling in rage, but she made no move to approach him.

“If you think any jury, judge, or lawyer will seriously consider placing the lives and well being of three kids under your care- then you’re either delusional or just plain stupid,” Stiles spoke firmly, his tone cold. He stood up before continuing.

“I’m glad you decided to clean yourself up. You’re healthier now. You’re in a better place. I’m happy for you, really. But being sober doesn’t qualify you to be a parent; you’re not entitled to a place in their lives because you’re not as bad you were a few years ago. You’re still not any more ready to be a mom now, than you were five years ago. Hailey, you’re never going to be ready."

She deflated with every word, shoulders slumping and arms wrapping around her middle. She fixed the same glare at Stiles’ face, still as venomous as it was before he spoke. She stormed out of the room and into the kitchen. Stiles followed her, still speaking.

“You tried and you’re just not cut out for it. You tried going through the motions, but no one in this fucking apartment is happy! You’re never going to be able to pack lunches and drive Erica to soccer practice. You’re never going to be able to sit in the bleachers at Scott’s lacrosse games. You will never be content with taking Isaac to his music lessons on Saturday mornings after his therapy. There is no room for us in the life you have built. There’s no class you can take that will teach you how to love being a mother. I’m sorry if this is the first time someone has told you this. I’m sorry if this is just wreaking havoc on this world you had built in your head, where you swooped in and everyone lived happily after. But you need to hear what I have to say: you will never be a mom to my kids. You had your chance. You made your choice. Live with the consequences. I should’ve told you that months ago. I shouldn’t have let this go as far as it did. I’m sorry.”

Hailey shook her head, opening her mouth as if to reply. After a moment, she closed it and brushed a hand through her hair.

“We were never supposed to end up here,” she finally said. “We weren’t supposed to get married, have kids, and live happily ever after.”

Stiles knew what she meant. He agreed. They had met in a dingy bar during his senior year. He remembered seeing her for the first time; he remembered the way she had smiled at him, eyes heavy-lidded and electric blue. He remembered the guitar she had played and the awful covers her band had played. Hailey was nothing like he had ever seen before. A young college kid, from a small town and a struggling, wannabe with more complexes than addictions: there were made to burn bright and quick. She had been an introduction; a peek into a world of beautiful, unrelenting chaos. The first time they slept together, she had bitten his neck and whispered, “Ruin me.” Lying in tangled sheets in a cheap apartment in West Hollywood, he hadn’t planned past the morning after. Stiles hadn’t realized how much they’d ruin each other, back then. But hindsight was always 20/20.

“No,” he admitted sadly, “we weren’t.”

“Then why do I want it?” Hailey pleaded, desperate to hear what she wanted.

“Don’t we always want what we can’t have?” Stiles replied. He traced the cracks in the wall to his left, mind straying to a similar conversation he remembered having months ago in another kitchen with another person he loved. When he glanced back, she was gone. Some things never changed.

* * *

 

When Derek came in through the door later that night with the kids, Stiles and Hailey were waiting in the living room. Stiles knew how he looked, knew how Hailey looked. He was hoping the expressions on their faces wouldn’t detract from what they had to say. 

“Dad. Mom,” Scott greeted them cautiously, “What’s going on?”

“Scottie, sweetie,” Hailey hummed. “Come sit down.”

Derek, Isaac asleep in his arms, moved to leave the room. Stiles reached out and caught him by his sleeve. Erica, clinging to Derek, refused to leave her place by Derek’s legs. Stiles finally coaxed her to sit, albeit on Derek’s lap. His heart throbbed as he watched Derek fold himself around the twins, making space for them as he always managed to.

Scott refused to leave his spot by the door, instead folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

“Sitting down isn’t going to make this any better. Just tell us what you have to say so we can go to bed,” Scott pressed.

“Okay, honey. Well, your dad and I were discus—”

“We’re going back to Beacon Hills,” Stiles cut in. He was tired and drawn too thin to prolong this any further. “We’ll be back by the end of the summer.”

Scott nodded, sighing in relief. He smiled at Derek and made his way to his room, assumedly to call Allison. Erica patted Derek’s knee in an attempt to get his attention. Derek, meanwhile, was having a hard time looking at anything other than Stiles’ face.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Hailey muttered. She left the room without so much as a backwards glance.

Stiles fidgeted in his seat. The last time he and Derek had spoken, Stiles had felt the last of his hope melt away. But here, Stiles felt it flare up again. The rawness in Derek’s stare wore Stiles down, too.

“We have to wait until the lease is up,” Stile prattled on. “So, we’ll be home in a month or two.”

“Home,” Derek repeated. He looked dazed.

“Poppa,” Erica whines tiredly. Derek sapped out of his trance to look at her, hand cupping the back of her head. “Wha’s going on?”

“Nothing, baby,” Derek replied softly. “Your daddy and I have to talk for a bit. It’s time for bed.”

“Daddy, please,” Erica pleaded.

Stiles shook his head.

“It’s time for bed, boogerbean. We’ll talk in the morning,” he answered in a soothing tone.

Taking her from Derek’s lap, Stiles carried her to the room she shared with Isaac. Laying her down in bed, he kissed her forehead and tucked her in. Derek brought the sheets around Isaac and carded his hands through the soft curls. The caress was so gentle, so loving, Stiles almost cried. He fled the room before Derek could see the tears in his eyes.

* * *

 

“Are we going to talk about this?” Derek asked, already weary from the weight of everything left unsaid. 

Stiles paused from where he was unmaking his bed, back turned to Derek, and in _no way_ trying to avoid talking about the news. He shrugged and, after a brief twitch, resumed the task at hand.

“Is there anything to talk about?” Stiles countered. He tried- valiantly- to sound disinterested. He didn’t even come close.

“Stiles. Don’t.”

Stiles tossed the last pillow back on the bed and sat down. He bit at the skin on his left thumb, unsure of what to say.

“Silence. Really?” Derek sounded exasperated. Stiles glanced up and rolled his eyes at the familiar scowl on his face.

“Derek, I’m really tired and I don’t know what you want me to say,” he mumbled. He rubbed his face, feeling the oncoming exhaustion all at once.

“I’m tired of you deciding everything without me!”

Derek’s outburst had Stiles jerking forward, up and off the bed. _Where had that come from?_

“What? What do you mean?”

Derek made a noise remarkably close to a growl and lifted his hands up in an aborted gesture before letting them drop heavily at his sides.

“You just…you never stop to ask what anyone else wants or needs,” Derek responded quietly. “You don’t realize that there are other people besides yourself and Hailey.”

Stiles paled at the implication.

“What. The. Fuck,” he whispered. He was suddenly too angry to speak; his voice had quieted in his attempt to remain calm.

“Did it ever occur to you to ask me what I wanted?” Derek asked, face frozen in a pained expression.

And it suddenly occurred to Stiles: he never had. Not when he had spoken to Hailey the first time, six months ago. Not when had decided to leave. Not when he had decided to come back. Not even now, when he was ready to leave things be and pretend the last six months had ever happened.

“I just thought—”

“You just thought that you’d move back and everything would go back to how it was.”

Derek gave him a small, knowing smile. It was pained, more a flash of teeth than anything. Stiles wanted to crawl inside himself and disappear.

“No, not exactly,” Stiles tried to explain. He was quickly losing control of the situation and he had to regain it quickly.

“I’m not going to tell you that you can’t come back. That’s not my place and I know how much you and the kids need to be back home,” Derek explained.

_Home._

“I just wish you could give me a heads up or include me. Instead, you just have me go off to distract the twins and keep Scott company. What if—,“ Derek cut himself off. He sighed and shook his head. Leaning against Stiles’ dresser, he crossed his arms over himself and seemed to give up on his train of thought.

“What if what?” Stiles was almost too afraid to ask. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Derek say it. He wanted confirmation.

“Nothing. Let it go. Forget I even said anything,” Derek warned. He started to walk towards the door, but Stiles stopped him by closing it and standing in front of it.

“Stiles—“

“What if _what_ , Derek?”

“What if I didn’t want you to come home?” Derek spat, standing nose to nose with Stiles.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. There was the loud slap of skin against skin. A burning tingle in the palm of Stiles’ hand faintly registered in his mind. He was too busy watching Derek, cheek red under his stubble, stare violently into his own surprised face.

“Fuck you,” Stiles choked out, barely aware he had actually slapped Derek.

Stiles stilled for a brief moment, hesitating. They were too close and Derek was looking at him with a heated glare. And that was so much better than the poorly hidden disdain he had received when he had showed up outside Derek’s bedroom door a few weeks ago. At least it was something. Stiles couldn’t help it then: he lunged forward. His mouth collided against Derek’s in a violent imitation of a kiss. Teeth clacking together, Stiles yelped before pushing off of him. Derek made no move to bring him back in, instead going limp against the wall again. Stiles’ cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he remembered why he was angry with Derek. He pushed against him, hands only minutely shaking. Once his hands made contact Derek’s chest, he found he couldn’t stop shoving him away. Derek’s back rammed against the wall as Stiles shoved him again and again.

“You stupid, fucking fuck,” Stiles cried out. “Why can’t I hate you?”

“Stop,” Derek replied calmly.

“It would be easier. I could be more like you,” Stiles sneered. “If I could be more like you, it’d make everything easier.”

Derek slid a hand up Stiles’ arm to rest on his shoulder, holding him back. Stiles shivered at the touch, teeth gritting in frustration.

“How would being more like me make any of this any easier?” Derek asked. The sarcasm pushed Stiles over the edge.

“Yeah, man. I could be more like you. Instead of trying to make things better, I could just sit in my house and dwell on it. I could drown myself in self-hatred and guilt. I could throw myself into a garage and fix cars because I can’t seem to fix anything else. Cars aren’t living, breathing people with feelings and flaws and beating hearts that can break. Cars won’t take anything from you. Cars won’t leave you or take advantage of you. Cars won’t burn down your house with your family inside.”

Stiles was on a roll and there was no way he was stopping now.

“Yeah, I’d let the past keep me from ever trusting anyone in the future. Why open myself up when I’ve had to sew myself shut one too many times? Why give someone a second chance if they already burned me once. Pun not intended,” Stiles stopped briefly to keep from pushing too hard.

“If I were more like you, I’d just give up and forget about the person who meant the most to me. It’d be so easy, then: hating the guy I thought I loved. I would try my best to make the kids happy and set up little routines for us to lose ourselves in. I’d stop trying to move forward; I’d stop trying to make myself happy and settle for being safe. If I were more like Derek Hale, I’d close myself off and forget I ever found the love of my life. It would be so much easier to stop loving you if I weren’t me.”

Derek’s grip on his arm was actually hurting Stiles now. Derek released him, his nails leaving behind little crescent shapes in Stiles’ skin. He gripped Stiles’ chin between his thumb and the side of his index finger, tilting Stiles’ face up to meet his.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Derek spoke clearly and quietly. “It’s not going to work. You’re not going to shut me out by throwing this shit in my face. I’m not going to get angry and shut down. I’m not backing down, so shut up and listen to me.”

Unaware he had started to cry, Stiles startled when Derek wiped away a stray tear from his cheek with his other thumb. He sniffled and tried to pull away, but Derek held firm.

“I never said I didn’t want you to come back. I was just trying to make a point,” Derek explained. 

Stiles stopped jerking away, but he looked to the side to avoid Derek’s gaze. Shame swept through him, hot and heavy.

“I just hate that you think you can do everything on your own. You have to let me in. You don’t know everything and you have to meet me halfway. Stiles, this isn’t going to work unless you meet me halfway,” Derek pleaded.

Derek _pleaded_. Stiles looked up at that. Derek was looking at him with the same tenderness he had shown Isaac, moments ago. It made Stiles feel loved and whole.

“I was just trying to do what I thought was right,” Stiles said through a sob. “I just wanted to make the right decision for everyone. Because it was something I wanted and something I needed. And it’s something my family needs, too. I just thought everyone would win.”

Derek hummed in agreement and moved his hand from under Stiles’ chin to the nape of his neck. He kissed Stiles’ forehead and his nose.

“We need to be in this together,” Derek whispered against Stiles’ cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles shuddered as Derek’s lips brushed against his. “I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay,” Derek whispered back.

“I didn’t know there was still a ‘we.’ I didn’t know,” Stiles repeated.

Derek crushed him to his chest, rocking them both. There was a “we.” There would be a “we,” when he returned to Beacon Hills. When he came back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there. Had to slip in a wee bit of angst in here. I promise Stiles isn't trying to be awful, he's just scared and confused. He's going to be better.
> 
> Expect the last update sometime before Sunday. As usual, please feel free to leave me feedback. I appreciate it all, positive or (constructively) negative. Find me on tumblr.


	15. To Build a Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years after Derek comes home from LA, he finally learns what it means to be home.

“You ever wonder what would’ve happened?” she asked him. He couldn’t see her face but, from the way she had curled in on herself, Derek guessed Jen probably knew what he would say. “Do you think about how things would be different? If you had stayed?” 

“No,” Derek whispered in reply. “Not really.”

_Liar._

Truth be told, he did. Every day.

There were times where Derek would be thrown three years back. He’d hear a song or see the back of a stranger’s head. He’d see a little girl at the market with a seemingly familiar tangle of hair and ache down to his bones. There had been a day, a few months back, when he had seen a little boy at the mall and had a meltdown. The boy- with a head of seemingly familiar sandy-brown curls- had been walking next to his father while speaking excitedly and bouncing around, as all seven year olds do. Derek hadn’t even lasted a full five minutes before he had given Jen some excuse and left the mall. If he had hidden in his car for a full half hour and broke down, chest racked with sobs and shuddering breaths- well, only he and the woman in the mini-van next to him knew.

  
He drew away from her, rubbing a hand over his face. Jen knew, as well as Derek, that he’d experience that familiar, heavy drop in his stomach all the time. She always did this in the quiet of the early morning, the sky still dark. He rolled over to glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand. Sure enough, the clock’s face showed a blinking 3:34 a.m. in bright red numbers. Derek sighed and got himself out of bed to put pants on. He might as well start his day now. There would be no sleep with Stiles on his mind.

* * *

**_3 Years Ago..._ **

The flight back from LA had been a nightmare, but Derek barely noticed. He tuned out the crying baby and slept through the turbulence when they passed through the Bay. He was feeling a million times lighter than he had a week ago. He could breathe easier, knowing Stiles would be coming back. _Coming home,_ he reminded himself.

Derek turned his phone on as Boyd drove him home from the airport. They exchanged a brief greeting before Boyd turned on the radio to the preset classic rock station with an easy turn of the knob. Derek scrolled through a few messages, startling to a stop when he found a text from Chris. For a second, he thought he’d ignore it. He didn’t want to spoil his good mood with whatever it was that Chris wanted. Derek sat still in the quiet of the cab for a few minutes. Finally, his curiosity getting the better of him, he dialed his voicemail.

_Call me. Now._

The abruptness of the Chris’ message sent a chill down Derek’s spine. Derek immediately dialed his number.

“Hey,” Chris answered on the first ring. His tone was forcedly cheery, if not a bit manic in his efforts to sound composed. “I can’t speak long. _My sister_ is visiting right now. You should probably just leave, don’t wait for me. I’m sorry I won’t be able to see you off.”

Derek froze. He felt the blood leave his face and his hands tremble. Chris hung up with a quick farewell. Derek continued to stare at his phone after the screen went black. Derek could feel the bile rising in his throat. He grabbed Boyd’s arm, jerking it until he pulled over on the side of the road. Derek barely had the time to throw open the door before he threw up. He fell to his knees and retched until he felt empty.

“What’s going on?” Boyd asked quietly, out of the truck and by Derek’s side in an instant. “Is Laura okay? Is anyone hurt?”

“Kate,” Derek managed to rasp. “Kate’s in town. Chris just told me. Fuck, she’s back.”

Boyd swore under his breath. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he dialed a number while Derek tried to control his breathing from his spot on the ground. The years of panic he had stifled seemed to overwhelm him at once. Years of nightmares and pain; he had spent half his life trying to block out memories of honey blonde hair, bright white teeth framed by dark red lipstick, and the smell of fire. It was like waking up from a nightmare, only to find out reality was worse.

“—don’t think that’s a good idea, Laura,” Boyd was arguing into the phone. “How’re we going to get in there without making it obvious?”

“Let me talk to her,” Derek cut into the conversation. He stood up slowly, spitting the last remnants of the acrid taste in his mouth.

Boyd handed over the phone immediately. They walked back to the truck and got in, Boyd turning over the keys in his hand instead of starting the engine.

“Derek? Sweetie, we can get your stuff. I know you want to avoid seeing her, so I can get a bag from your place ready,” Laura was using her mom voice. Derek wanted to cry.

“Laura,” he croaked. He didn’t even bother composing himself when his voice had long gone brittle and pained. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago. I—”

“Honey, I know. I know about you two. Trust me: having an Argent as an ex is nothing new to me,” she replied drily.

“No,” Derek desperately tried to speak before Laura could get anything else out. He needed to explain. “You don’t know everything. You can’t…Laura, it’s so bad.”

There was silence over the line. Boyd was looking at him, face creased with worry. Derek didn’t care if Boyd heard, as long as he could tell Laura. He needed to tell someone why hearing Kate’s name made his mouth taste like smoke.

“Derek,” Laura pleaded. She sounded frightened.

“She did it,” Derek whispered, although he knew it made no difference. It was still just as horrific. He could shout it or scream it into the phone: but all that came out was a broken, choked whisper, barely anything more than a rasp.

“Laura, she did it. She burned down the house. She fucking did it and she used me to do it. She waited until we were at the swim meet; she knew we’d be out of the house. She wanted us to know what…how it felt to lose everything. She left me a note. She told me it was my fault. It’s because of me everyone’s gone. Laura, I didn’t know. I didn’t know what to do.”

Laura was crying. He could hear the sobs over the line. Boyd sat in the driver’s seat, jaw tense. Derek wanted the earth to swallow him up; he wanted to disappear.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Laura whimpered. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

How was Derek supposed to explain away his silence? Explain how he had been sleeping with the person who murdered his family? Explain how he had made it entirely possible for her to slip into the house, undetected? Explain how he had shown her the extra key and way into the basement because that’s where they’d go to fool around? What reason could he give for being unable- afraid, ashamed, and traumatized- to bring what he knew to light? He was just as much at fault as Kate.

“It was my fault, too. I should’ve known. I should’ve said no,” Derek mumbled.

“Derek. You listen to me and you shut up: it is not your fault,” she spoke firmly through her quiet sobs. “You were a baby. You were sixteen years old. She took everything from you, but you didn’t deserve it. She did this. Not you. I don’t blame you, honey, I don’t.”

“But you need to tell the Sheriff,” Laura added after a moment, voice quiet and firm. “It’s time.”

Derek nodded. He knew Laura couldn’t see him, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Boyd took the phone from him, then, and started the car. They made their way to the Sheriff’s Department.

* * *

_  
_ **_Now_ **

_Please come back. I want you here for this_. 

Derek lost count of how many times he’d read the letter. _Engaged. We miss you. It’s time._ The last line of the letter brought him back to a phone call from years ago. “It’s time,” Laura had pleaded with him then. He could hear her now.

Jen was bustling around in the kitchen, getting her coffee ready before her first class of the day. Her long brown hair tumbled loosely around her shoulders. Her thin fingers flitted around, measuring half & half and sugar. He hadn’t spoken to her about the letter; she knew he didn’t speak to anyone from back home except for his niece and her boyfriend. His own sister hadn’t spoken to him since the trial, two years ago.

They had been a united front in court; every court date they would, along with Chris and Boyd, sit there together. Derek didn’t know how to put into words how it felt to see Kate again; there were no words to describe the terror and relief. In her orange jumpsuit, Kate had sat straight next to her lawyer, defiantly staring ahead. It wasn’t until the sentence was read, after months of proceedings, that she had looked at Derek full in the face. Despite the guilty verdict, despite a courtroom full of people who hated her (including her own brother), despite the heinousness of her actions: she still smiled at him. Derek was rocked to his core. He and Laura had cried together that day, Laura’s hand squeezing tightly around his. Derek had felt far too heavy to appreciate the peace her sentence should have brought. So many wasted years. He could’ve brought peace to his family so much sooner, had he swallowed down his shame and fear.

Stiles still hadn’t been back by then. Derek had called him to let him know what was happening every so often, but Scott had always been the one on the other end. Stiles, admittedly, had been busy with his own mess. Hailey had relapsed. Hard. Derek could hardly stand thinking about it, but he refused to leave Scott without someone to talk to. The twins were still too young to fully understand what was happening, though he spoke with them as well. He missed them. He knew what Stiles was dealing with- at least, he thought he knew, anyway. It should’ve been easy to resent him, but Derek hurt too much to really blame the guy for trying to fix his family. Derek, if he was being honest, lost contact after he left. He still received texts from Scott and he still sent letters to the twins, along with presents on every holiday (even the small ones, because he still couldn’t say no to Erica). But Stiles had shut him out when he returned home to find Derek gone. Derek hated himself for it.

“Laura sent me a letter,” Derek blurted out.

Jen kept stirring her coffee. She turned her head slightly, waiting for him to continue. Derek wasn’t sure what needed to be said; he didn’t know how to word everything he was thinking.

“She’s engaged. She wants me to be there for the engagement party,” he continued. “And I think she just wants me to come home.”

Jen nodded absently as she picked up her mug and walked over to the table. Sitting down, she blew on her coffee and seemed to consider Derek for a while. After a silent few moments, she took a measured sip from her cup.

“What do you want?”

Derek knew. He shrugged and looked away. She knew, too.

“I think it’s time,” Derek replied, the words of Laura’s letter echoing in his head. “I think I’ve been running away long enough.”

Jen glanced at him and nodded. She took another sip.

“I can’t come with you,” she murmured, speaking into her cup. She didn’t look as sad as he thought she would be. She looked pensive, calculated. “But I think you knew that.”

“Yeah,” Derek answered the silent question in Jen’s conclusion: _Are you going back for good?_

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Derek,” she said. She reached over and took his hand. She squeezed it briefly and then let go. She stood and left the kitchen, not glancing back once. Her registered the door shutting as she left for her morning class.

For three years, he had drifted around. The day he left, Boyd had given him the motorcycle he’d been fixing up. They didn’t talk about it, but Derek knew Boyd: he knew Derek was grateful. Derek had packed enough to help him get by and spent the next few months driving aimlessly, doing odd jobs in garages and bike shops when he stopped for more than a week at a time. Then, in a small town in Texas just outside Dallas, Derek had met Jen. They had met outside of a bookstore downtown, where she had stumbled into him and knocked him over. They’d been together on and off for the last two years or so; it was easy.

Things were effortless with Jen. An English Lit professor at SMU, she had been raised in Dallas all her life. She was a few years younger than him, although not by much, and a good Southern girl. Jen was beautiful, kind, and incredibly intelligent. They rarely fought or argued; there were no hurdles to jump over with their relationship. But then again, it was never something that was going to last. It went unsaid between them: an unspoken, agreed-upon contract. They’d known that going into this, whatever “this” was.

From the first time she had taken him to a university function (everyone had cooed at him and smiled at them, together; “Jen, he’s a good one. You better get a ring on that finger before someone snaps him right up from under ya!” “Look at those eyes and that jawline! You two will have the prettiest babies, for sure!” “Darlin’, Jen’s a good girl: y’all are just perfect for each other!”), he had known how much she could mean for him- had he been a different Derek in a different universe, maybe. But for all that potential: it was never meant to be.

Derek would never love Jen, not really. He liked their morning routines and the easy companionship she provided him. He liked sleeping next to a warm body at night. The sex was good; she fit well in his hands and against his body. He appreciated her silence when he spoke with Allison on the phone every Tuesday. She never asked for more than he gave; Derek never promised more than what he was capable of giving. It never felt permanent. Derek had just been waiting around until their expiration date.

His phone buzzed on the table, making him jump.

 

From: Jen

_Leave your key under the mat. Fly safe._

Derek texted back a response, just a few words of gratitude. His phone buzzed almost immediately in reply.

 

From: Jen

_Thank you, Derek. Take care of yourself; find happiness. Find peace._

 

Derek sighed out in relief before he called Laura.

“Hey,” he greeted. “I’m coming home.”

* * *

Derek knocked again, louder this time. He bounced from leg to leg in his nervousness. Finally, the door swung open. Allison smiled before jumping on him.

“Oh my God,” she squealed, “I can’t believe you’re really here. You’re back!”

Derek dropped his bags and hugged her tightly. _Never leaving you again,_ he thought to himself. He had been there since her first steps, but he had missed her first day of high school. Her first date had come and gone, although he received a play-by-play from both Scott and Allison. He missed this: being wanted. He’d never leave her again.

“Hey, Ally,” he murmured into her hair. Allison had sprouted; she was just a few inches shorter than him now. Derek noticed as he hugged her, the muscularity of her arms and shoulders. He had missed a lot in his gap years. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, Bear,” she cooed.

“Hey, Pop,” Scott called out. He clapped Derek on the shoulder and Derek was surprised to find it actually hurt. The shaggy-haired boy he had met all those years ago was gone, leaving a full-blown teenager in his place. _I’m turning into a Lifetime movie in the doorway._ He moved inside, following Allison and Scott into the living room.

Truth be told, Derek felt good. Scott had never stopped calling him “Poppa” or “Pop,” despite the circumstances. There was no bad blood between them; Derek knew he’d have to make things up to the twins, but Scott understood. There was no way Derek could’ve stayed in Beacon Hills and healed. He had needed to leave: needed to work through the damage, himself. Beacon Hills couldn’t have given Derek the space he had needed to grow out of the roots that had long held him down. But now, listening to his niece and the boy he called his son chatter about classes and summer jobs: he felt whole again. Derek had healed himself and was well on his way to making everything right. 

“How long are you back?” Scott asked carefully. Derek knew what he meant.

“I’m back,” he replied. “I’m home.”

Scott smiled and hugged him tightly, clapping him on the back. Derek wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and chuckled. Scott may be a strapping young man, but he still hugged like a twelve year old.

“Der,” Laura spoke softly.

Derek released Scott from the bear hug and faced his sister. Her once long, black hair was shorter now, framing the soft angles of her face. Her big brown eyes had more lines at the corners, from stress or the burden of the last few years- Derek didn’t know. She looked tired, but happy. That was all Derek could hope for, really.

“Laura,” he answered. “Congratulations.”

Laura laughed through a sob before she, too, ran towards him. He scooped her up and hugged her tightly, spinning her around. The silence between them had been uncomfortable, almost stifling. There had been so many times where he had wanted to speak to her. He had almost asked Allison to pass the phone, but he feared the possibility of Laura’s rejection. Derek had a lot of things to make up to a lot of people and he would start with his sister.

“I’m so sorry,” Derek said as he pulled back from Laura. “I just couldn’t be here. I couldn’t—”

“I know, I know,” Laura interrupted, still sniffling through tears. “I don’t blame you. Trust me, I get it. Just don’t leave again.”

In that moment, she sounded so young; she didn’t sound like the overbearing, loud-mouthed, overly affectionate older sister he was familiarized with in his head. Derek felt shame wash through him. He had never meant to be away this long. But once he’d started running, it’d been hard to stop. Derek nodded, more a jerky movement of his head than a real nod, and hugged her again. The four of them spent the next few hours catching up and talking about the wedding. Later, when Boyd came home from the garage, they had dinner at the Inn. Derek ordered the lasagna, surprised to find Scott helping Laura in the kitchen. They ate together, after Laura passed on kitchen duties to a few new college students she’d hired. It was everything Derek needed; it was family. Boyd sent him a grateful glance as he threw an arm around Laura.

“You took care of her when I couldn’t,” Derek said by way of thanks. “I’ll always be grateful to you.”

“You’d done enough taking care of everyone. It was time to take care of you,” Boyd said in response. “You have to put yourself first, sometimes.”

Derek could think of one person who would disagree. Derek had been avoiding the topic of c Stiles altogether, if he could bring himself to be honest. Like clockwork, Derek sent letters to the twins, Scott, and Stiles. The twins never failed to write him back and sometimes call him, but always on Scott’s phone. He didn’t expect anything more. He knew he had let Stiles down. After Stiles had stopped calling him, Derek had stopped trying. He thought maybe distance would work towards their benefit. But then, after the trial was over, he had left without a word to anyone except Frank and Boyd. Scott had forgiven him. But Stiles never spoke to him again. Derek hadn’t been there when Stiles came back from LA. No letter or phone call. Derek had been somewhere in New Mexico when Scott had called to tell him they’d moved back. News of Kate and the trial had spread throughout Beacon Hills, so Stiles must have known what the outcome had been. But he had never called. Derek thought about picking up the phone and dialing the long-since memorized number. But he always stopped short, not quite able to follow through.

Derek, lost in his head, came back to the table. He looked at the people around him and took a moment to appreciate the heady, warm feeling growing in his chest. Being needed. Being wanted. _Being loved,_ his mind supplied. He remembered Jen’s text from days before. _Find peace._ It wasn’t as shocking a discovery to realize he had never needed to look for it, he just needed to let himself accept it.

* * *

 “Are you gonna go see him?” Erica asked. A tangible, heavy tension had filled the house since Scott had come home the previous night. Derek was back and, from what they were told, was here to stay. He had been moving back into his old house all morning. Erica had immediately wanted to go over, excited to see her Poppa. Isaac shared the sentiment, although Stiles could tell he was more anxious about Derek’s arrival. _Typical_ , he thought.

Stiles tensed in his seat at his desk. He continued typing, pretending not to hear her. Maybe, she’d go away. He should know better by now. Erica was a stubborn pain in the ass when something piqued her interest, relentless in her efforts to get what she wanted. Basically, she was exactly like her father. _Damn genetics._

“Dad,” Erica groaned. “Are we going to go? Or are Izzy and I catching a ride with Scott?”

“Since when are you going over?” Stiles asked, avoiding answering his daughter’s questions.

“Since I heard he was back,” Erica fired back. _Shit_ , _she wasn’t going to drop this any time soon._ “Are you coming?”

Stiles considered it, for a moment. He thought of seeing Derek again, after years of wondering. He thought of how he would look, and he thought about whether or not Derek would want to see him. Granted, the man had only been back for a few hours- but Stiles had spent every one of those hours torturing himself.

He remembered how caught up in Hailey’s mess he’d been; after a while, he had shut Derek out. Months of phone calls and Skyping had gone out the window when he had totally dropped the ball. Scott had tried, valiantly, to be the middleman for a few months during the trial. But Stiles had his hands full with Hailey. It was like she had been a black hole: drawing everything into the dark void inside her. After a year of trying, Stiles gave up. Exhausted and sick, he had given up trying to salvage the irreparable: he had packed up and moved home. He couldn’t bring himself to care how Hailey coped. Lydia accepted this. She and Jackson had helped him pack up the Jeep, this time. If she hadn’t have been seven months pregnant at the time, she would have gone down to move him in. Stiles remembers leaving Hailey in the apartment the day he moved. Her once bright blue eyes, now glazed over and bloodshot, didn’t even register his face. He remembers how she had sat listlessly as he had said his goodbyes. He didn’t want the twins to have their last memories of her like this, so he had packed them up while they were asleep. Scott had flat out refused to say goodbye.

Stiles remembers what it had been like to come back to Beacon Hills, only to find out Derek was gone. He remembers driving to Derek’s house, only to find it mostly empty: doors locked, windows shuttered, and boxes out front on the porch.  Then he had found out about the trial. All of it. His father had called him down to the station, voice somber and carefully void of sounding too careful. Stiles remembers how hard he cried that night, sobbing into his arms and screaming into his pillow. Again, he had let Derek down in his need to cater to Hailey. He had put her first, again, instead of the people who mattered. And he paid dearly for it. The only thing stopping him now from running all the way to Derek’s was his own cowardice.

“Daddy,” Erica called. He snapped out of his reverie, brought back to his office and the blue screen of his laptop. “Daddy, we should go.”

Stiles nodded and closed his Macbook shut. Not for the first time, his daughter was right.

* * *

Derek dropped the last box out of the storage container into the garage. Six hours later, it was finally empty. Laura handed him a beer in celebration.

“You think he’ll show?” Laura asked, all pervious attempts at shyness and caution gone.

_There’s the Laura I know._

“Who?” Derek asked. “Stiles?”

Laura rolled her eyes and took a long swig of beer. Boyd came and sat down next to her, taking her beer and downing half the bottle in two swigs. She swatted at him and reclaimed it.

“No, the fucking mayor. Of course, I mean Stiles, you moron,” she replied. Well, he’d deserved that.

“I don’t know,” Derek responded quietly. He didn’t. He hoped, maybe, but he didn’t know for certain.

“Speak of the devil,” Boyd intoned from his seat in between Laura’s legs. He looked way too comfortable for the impeding situation at hand.

“Oh, shit,” Laura added helpfully.

Derek sat up, knocking over the beer at his feet in his haste. He didn’t stop to pick it up. He just stared at the parked blue Jeep in his driveway as it puddled around his left shoe. Stiles wore a similar expression inside the Jeep, eyes saucer-wide and mouth slightly agape in a way only Stiles could really pull off. Derek wanted to laugh at how much he’d missed that stupid face. Stiles’ hair was longer now, coming up in a little flick above his forehead. His face a little tanner and missing the lavender pools under his eyes from stress and days without sleep. His face was filled out again and Derek noticed his favorite ruddy flush pinking Stiles’ cheeks and neck. He looked healthier, older. He looked beautiful. But, then again, he had never been anything but.

Derek’s legs seemed rooted to the spot, even though he wanted nothing more than to run and throw the driver’s side door open. He wanted to kiss Stiles until he couldn’t take a breath without tasting him. He wanted so many things, but he found he could only stand in a puddle of spilled beer and stare. Stiles seemed to make up his mind as he climbed down and pulled Erica and Isaac out with him. Erica waited a polite three seconds before she took off and catapulted herself into Derek’s legs.

“You’re so dumb for leaving without us!” she yelled. Her voice was muffled as she continued to berate Derek while crushing her face into the material of his pants. Derek sunk down to his knees, gathering her into his arms. She fought him, slapping and pushing- much like when he had come to LA to see her and Isaac. Derek didn’t fight it this time. He just slumped over her as he waited for her to calm down.

“You’re such a poopface. I hate you. You made Daddy so sad and you made Isaac cry,” she continued. “And you sent us presents and the dinosaur bone necklace is still my favorite. And you still smell like my Poppa. And I love you and I missed you so much.”

Finally, Erica sunk into his chest. She didn’t cry this time, but she still shook with her dwindling anger. Derek nuzzled into her hair and kissed her on the forehead.

“I missed you too, bug,” he whispered into her hair. “My strong little warrior girl.”

Derek looked up to seek out Isaac. He needed to get to work on his list of apologies.

“Derek,” Boyd called. He was brushing himself off and helping Laura up. “We’re gonna start unpacking inside. Give us a shout if you need anything.”

Derek nodded and sank fully onto the ground and he sat with Erica sprawled in his lap. He kissed her temple again and beckoned Isaac over with his free hand. Isaac walked towards him, slowly and cautiously. Derek offered a hand when Isaac came near enough to touch. Isaac took his hand and sat down beside him. He seemed content enough to rest his head against Derek’s shoulder, smiling softly as Derek pushed a few stray curls away from his face. Isaac squeezed his hand and looked at his sister. She nodded after a while, bottom lip trembling. Isaac climbed into Derek’s lap then, Erica’s permission to forgive Derek granted. Derek picked them up and walked over to Stiles. He looked him in the face as he spoke, addressing all three of them.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t wait,” Derek started shakily. “I needed to go, but I should’ve waited for you. I should’ve told you. I should’ve done a lot of things differently. I want you guys to know that I missed you every second. I’m so sorry.”

Stiles choked on a laugh and covered his face with his hands. He let out a frustrated yelp and shook his head.

“You’re…ugh,” he coughed on a sob. “I was coming over here to apologize and you beat me to it. Don’t you ever get tired of playing the good guy?”

Derek dropped the twins to the ground, although Erica refused to separate herself from where she was trying to fuse herself into Derek’s right leg. Isaac seemed content to hold Derek’s hand and rest his head against Derek’s side. He was taller now, so he came up to Derek’s hip. Derek rubbed the back of his head as he considered Stiles’ words. _Apologize? For what? I’m the one who left this time,_ he thought. _I was so angry when Stiles left. And then I turn around and do the same. I’m the hypocrite, here._

“What—“

“I let you down. Again,” Stiles chuckled harshly. The sound was ugly and too acerbic to match his sentiment. “I put Hailey in front of everyone. Again. I had a plan, you know? I was going to move back. I wanted a life with you, Derek. My kids and me and you. That was what I wanted. And then I let my martyr complex ruin everything. I pushed you out and you needed me. I know about the trial. Jesus, Derek. How could I not even be there? She…I can’t, I men- I was so selfish. Derek- how can you even look at me? I pushed you away and then you left. And it’s _my_ fault. Again.”

Derek gaped at Stiles. How long were they going to do this to each other? Push and pull. Leave, only to come back again. Derek didn’t care whose fault it was anymore. He didn’t care where they ranked on the scale of blame. He surged forward, dragging the twins with him as he went. He reached for Stiles and kissed him hard on the mouth. Just like that first kiss all those years ago, their teeth clacked together and they bit at each other’s lips. Derek pulled away after a few minutes. Stiles looked at him with such a desperate, painful longing- it made Derek burn, right down to his core.

That _ache_ ; it was why Derek knew Jen hadn’t been _it_ for him. It was what kept him from fully moving into her small house by the university’s campus. It was what kept him up at night- numb and cold, despite the warmth from a sleeping body of the pretty woman lying next to him. That beautiful, wonderful ache inside of his bones was the reason he could never walk away from Stiles. Not really. Not for good.

* * *

 Sitting down in the Jeep, Stiles couldn’t stop shaking. It was harder, now, without the twins or Scott as a buffer. Scott had come to the house a few days later, with Allison in tow and offered to take the twins so he and Derek could talk. After prying Erica from Derek, he had driven Derek into the preserve for a little privacy. Stiles was starting to miss having Erica and Isaac around; without them, he felt like he was drowning in the nervous tension and in his own anxiety. Jesus, he was 29 years old. He couldn’t believe he couldn’t have an adult conversation without his kids as an emotional safety net. _C’mon, Stiles. Let’s try that whole “emotional maturity” thing we’ve been hearing so much about_. Derek reached over and took his hand, waiting for him to speak.

“Derek,” Stiles didn’t have flashcards or a prepared speech, but he could start with honesty. “We have to stop.”

Derek flinched, mouth turning down at the corners as he grimaced. His grip around Stiles’ hand loosened and he tried to shoulder his way back to his side of the Jeep. Stiles immediately regretted his word choice. That’s not what he’d meant; he was messing this up, horribly. He took Derek’s hand again and squeezed it.

“I mean- we have to stop tiptoeing around this. We can’t half-ass anything this time, if there’s going to be a this time.”

“Do you want…what do you want? Do you want a this time?” Derek asked warily.

“I do. Derek, you have to know that I do. After everything? You have to know that I’ll always want you,” Stiles replied earnestly.

This was his chance to meet Derek halfway. He remembers Derek talking to him about that; he remembers a talk, some ways back, about that. Stiles knew he had to try. He couldn’t let Derek do all the legwork anymore. It was his turn to put himself out there

“I’ve been thinking…maybe I don’t think I care anymore about who left who, and for what reasons,” Stiles admitted. “I want you. You told me once I needed to meet you halfway? You remember that? Well, this is me meeting you halfway: I want you.”

He climbed out of his seat and into Derek’s lap on the passenger side. Personal space be damned, he needed to have Derek as close as possible. Once he was situated in Derek’s lap, he twined their fingers together, leaving one hand free to gesticulate as he spoke. He knew himself well enough to accept he needed at least one hand to speak.

“I don’t want to spend any more time being without you, wondering about what could’ve been or what could be. I don’t care about whose fault certain things were, granted most things have been my fault. Don’t fight me on this. I have a point to make,” Stiles warned, stabbing a finger into Derek’s chest.

“It’s just—I’m done looking,” his finger slipped won until his hand was placed against Derek’s warm chest. “There is nothing out there for me and for my family. And I’m done running away from what I want and need. I don’t need you, anymore, Derek. We’ve both grown enough and healed on our own. And I’m so proud of us. But, what I do need is for my family to be whole again. That’s impossible without you. I know what I want: and that’s you, next to me, always. That’s Isaac, Erica, and Scott in a house with us. I want you to be there for Scott’s graduation. I want you helping me with the twins because Erica’s a little shit and Isaac is just such a brilliant kid- and they’re only 8. Derek, I want to wake up in the morning and feel you drooling on my pillow. I want to fight with you and then have awesome makeup sex. I want us and everything that entails. Derek, there’s just no place for me to call home that doesn’t have you in it.”

Derek grinned softly, staring at where his fingers were intertwined with Stiles’. Stiles bit his lip as he waited for Derek to respond. Derek was really milking this for all that it was worth, wasn’t he? Then he shifted, bringing Stiles further down into his lap. Derek leaned in until their mouths were touching, just brushing with their breaths. Not quite a kiss, but a promise of one.

“I want all that, too,” Derek whispered against Stiles’ lips. “I need that, too.”

Stiles may or may not have whimpered as he laughed; he may or may not have lunged at Derek’s mouth, keening and whispering nonsense into heated kisses. There was a possibility that he may have cried as Derek laid him down in the backseat, mouthing at every inch of Stiles’ skin he could reach. Stiles can’t really remember (he’ll say) whether or not he came five minutes after Derek took him into his mouth; he can’t quite put together (not _really_ , anyway) if he came again when Derek pushed into him, full and hot and perfect. Derek may have made love to him, half hanging out of the Jeep with his pants around his ankles.

He’ll claim he can’t be certain; that he’ll just have to rely on Derek’s memory for those moments. But, maybe, he’ll look back on that day, years from now, and remember. Hushed moans and whispered promises. Wet, hot mouths moving together and apart. Big, strong hands around his hips, moving him up and down as he gasped and sobbed. Teeth biting at the curve of his throat and rough fingers running through the trail of hair below his belly. Maybe he will replay the sound of Derek panting his name in the quiet of the surrounding woods.

Maybe Stiles will roll over to trace the tattoo on Derek’s back and think about how he doesn’t have to cling to memories anymore: he has forever in bed, snoring loudly in the stillness of an early grey morning. There’s a good chance Stiles will scoot closer and wrap his arms and a leg around and over Derek, choosing to be the big spoon because Derek likes the way it makes him feel safe. There’s an even stronger chance that Stiles will whisper something outrageously crude into Derek’s ear, knowing he’ll hear him because he’s a light sleeper. Knowing it will annoy Derek when they’ve, “just had sex like four hours ago, Stiles. Let me sleep, goddamnit.” There’s also certainty that Derek will roll his eyes and grind into Stiles’ morning wood, anyway.

Stiles will, almost assuredly, forget about that day in the woods in favor of the day that lies before him; the life that lies before him, with Derek at his side. But maybe he’ll never let himself forget: he is loved.

Fiercely. Fully. Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS FINISHED.
> 
> I am so sorry this took so long. I was on vacation in Kauai and I had a bunch of stuff with school (I am finally admitted for Fall, whoo!). Again, this was a really hard ending for me to write and I hope I did the story justice. Please let me know what you think; opinions, commentary, and critiques are ALWAYS welcome. Find me on tumblr or leave it in the comments.
> 
> Most importantly: thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos, and enjoying this story. This, honestly, started off as a kind of joke/one-off before it took on a life of its own. Geez, now it's a full story. Whoah. I can't even believe it's done. Mostly. Would anyone be interested in an epilogue? (I'm thinking about it and might have a draft already written up...)

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are mine.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr:  
> personal: anaisnt  
> fandom blog: isntafan
> 
> Title is from The Cinematic Orchestra's "To Build a Home"


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